vasours and the
Wraggs.

"On second thoughts," went on Bower unconcernedly, "I forego the
stipulation as to a letter of apology. I don't suppose Helen will
value it. Assuredly, I do not."

The cheapening of her surrender stung more than she counted on. "I
have tried to avoid the appearance of uncalled for rudeness to-day,"
she blurted out.

"Well--yes. What is the number of your room?"

She told him.

"I shall send the check to you at once. Have you finished?"

He accompanied her to the door, bowed her out, and came back. Smiling
affably, he pulled a chair to Mrs. de la Vere's side.

"I quite enjoyed my luncheon," he said. "You all heard that stupid
outburst of Millicent's last night; so there is no harm in telling
you that she regrets it. She is leaving the hotel forthwith."

Helen rose suddenly. "She is one of my few friends," she said. "I
cannot let her go in anger."

"She is unworthy of your friendship," exclaimed Bower sharply. "Take
my advice and forget that she exists."

"You cannot forget that anyone exists, or has existed," said Spencer
quietly.

"What? You too?" said Bower. His eyes sought the American's, and
flashed an unspoken challenge.

He felt that the world was a few hundred years too old. There were
historical precedents for settling affairs such as that now troubling
him by means that would have appealed to him. But he opposed no
further hindrance to Helen's departure. Indeed, he perceived that her
meeting with Millicent would provide in some sense a test of his own
judgment. He would soon learn whether or not money would prevail.

He waited a little while, and then sent his valet with the check and a
request for an acknowledgment. The man brought him a scribbled note:

"Was rather taken aback by appearance of H. She says you
told her I was leaving the hotel. We fell on each other's
neck and wept. Is that right? M. J."

He cut the end off a cigar, lit the paper with a match, and lit the
cigar with the paper.

"Five thousand pounds!" he said to himself. "It is a lot of money to
one who has none. I remember the time when I would have sold my soul
to the devil for half the amount."

But that was not a pleasing notion. It suggested that, by evil hazard,
some such contract had, in fact, been made, but forgotten by one of
the parties to it. So he dismissed it. Having disposed of Stampa and
Millicent, practically between breakfast and lunch, there were no
reasons why he