w to treat the thing.

"She's always taken a great interest in the matter, and--and I
understand is very friendly with--with Miss Gainsborough," said Neeld.

"We shall have to make up our minds what to call ourselves soon," sighed
Harry.

"There can be no doubt at all," Edge put in; "and if I may venture to
suggest, I should say that the sooner the necessity is faced the
better."

"Certainly, certainly," Harry assented absently. Even the girl in the
restaurant must know about it soon; there must be another pow-wowing in
all the papers soon. But what would Cecily say? "If ever the time
comes----." He had laughed at that; it had sounded so unlikely, so
unreal, so theatrical. "If ever the time comes, I shall remember." That
was a strange thing to look back to now. But it was all strange--the
affair of the beastly new viscounty, Blinkhampton and its buildings, the
Arbitration and the confidence of Mr Disney. Madame Valfier--Comtesse
d'Albreville--with a little help from Addie Tristram had brought all
these things about. The result of Harry's review of them was English
enough to satisfy Wilmot Edge himself.

"The whole thing makes me look rather an ass, I think," said he.

"No doubt you acted impulsively," Edge allowed. It was fully equivalent
to an assent.

"Good heavens, I'd been brought up to it! It had always been the fact of
my life." He made no pretences about the matter now. "It never occurred
to me to think of any mistake. That certificate"--it lay on the table
still--"was the sword of Damocles." He laughed as he spoke the hackneyed
old phrase. "And Damocles knew the sword was there, or there'd have
been no point in it."

The two had rather lost track of his mood. They looked at one another
again.

"You've a lot to think of. We'll leave you," said the Colonel.

"But--but what am I to do?" Old Neeld's voice was almost a bleat in his
despair. "Am I to tell people at Blentmouth?"

"The communication should come from an authoritative quarter," Edge
advised.

"It's bound to be a blow to her," said Neeld. "Suddenly lifted up,
suddenly thrown down! Poor girl!"

"Justice is the first thing," declared Wilmot Edge. Now he might have
been on a court-martial.

They knew nothing whatever of the truth or the true position.

"We may rely on--on Lord Tristram--to treat the matter with every
delicacy, Edge."

"I'm sure of it, Neeld, I'm sure of it."

"He has been through what is practically the same experience