hearthrug, then suddenly he held out his
hand.

"Good-night," he said.

"Good-night."

Sir John allowed him to go to the door, to touch the handle, before he
spoke.

"Then--" he said, and Jack paused. "Then we are no farther on?"

"In what way?"

"In respect to the matter over which we unfortunately disagreed before
you went away?"

Jack turned, with his hand on the door.

"I have not changed my mind in any respect," he said gently. "Perhaps
you are inclined to take my altered circumstances into consideration--to
modify your views."

"I am getting rather old for modification," answered Sir John suavely.

"And you see no reason for altering your decision?"

"None."

"Then I am afraid we are no farther on." He paused. "Good-night," he
added gently, as he opened the door.

"Good-night."

CHAPTER XXXV. ENGAGED

Well, there's the game. I throw the stakes.

Lady Cantourne was sitting alone in her drawing-room, and the
expression of her usually bright and smiling face betokened considerable
perturbation.

Truth to tell, there were not many things in life that had power to
frighten her ladyship very much. Hers had been a prosperous life as
prosperity is reckoned. She had married a rich man who had retained his
riches while he lived and had left them to her when he died. And that
was all the world knew of Lady Cantourne. Like the majority of us, she
presented her character and not herself to her neighbours; and these
held, as neighbours do, that the cheery, capable little woman of the
world whom they met everywhere was Lady Cantourne. Circumstances alter
us less than we think. If we are of a gay temperament--gay we shall be
through all. If sombre, no happiness can drive that sombreness away.
Lady Cantourne was meant for happiness and a joyous motherhood. She had
had neither; but she went on being "meant" until the end--that is to
say, she was still cheery and capable. She had thrown an open letter on
the little table at her side--a letter from Jack Meredith announcing his
return to England, and his natural desire to call and pay his respects
in the course of the afternoon.

"So," she had said before she laid the letter aside, "he is home
again--and he means to carry it through?"

Then she had settled down to think, in her own comfortable chair (for if
one may not be happy, comfort is at all events within the reach of some
of us), and the troubled look had supervened.

Each of our lives