He would
permit no pessimism on this occasion of rejoicing. "You don't suppose
that the fact of your having lost your money--that is to say--er--of
_my_ having lost your money--will affect a splendid young fellow like
Derek Underhill? I know him better than to think that! I've always
liked him. He's a man you can trust! Besides," he added reflectively,
"there's no need to tell him! Till after the wedding, I mean. It won't
be hard to keep up appearances here for a month or so."

"Of course we must tell him!"

"You think it wise?"

"I don't know about it being wise. It's the only thing to do. I must
see him to-night. Oh, I forgot. He was going away this afternoon for a
day or two."

"Capital! It will give you time to think it over."

"I don't want to think it over. There's nothing to think about."

"Of course, yes, of course. Quite so."

"I shall write him a letter."

"Write, eh?"

"It's easier to put what one wants to say in a letter."

"Letters," began Uncle Chris, and stopped as the door opened. Jane,
the parlourmaid, entered, carrying a salver.

"For me?" asked Uncle Chris.

"For Miss Jill, sir."

Jill took the note off the salver.

"It's from Derek."

"There's a messenger-boy waiting, miss," said Jane. "He wasn't told if
there was an answer."

"If the note is from Derek," said Uncle Chris, "it's not likely to
want an answer. You said he left town to-day."

Jill opened the envelope.

"Is there an answer, miss?" asked Jane, after what she considered a
suitable interval. She spoke tenderly. She was a great admirer of
Derek, and considered it a pretty action on his part to send notes
like this when he was compelled to leave London.

"Any answer, Jill?"

Jill seemed to rouse herself. She had turned oddly pale.

"No, no answer, Jane."

"Thank you, miss," said Jane, and went off to tell the cook that in
her opinion Jill was lacking in heart. "It might have been a bill
instead of a love-letter," said Jane to the cook with indignation,
"the way she read it. I like people to have a little feeling!"

Jill sat turning the letter over and over in her fingers. Her face was
very white. There seemed to be a big, heavy, leaden something inside
her. A cold hand clutched her throat. Uncle Chris, who at first had
noticed nothing untoward, now began to find the silence sinister.

"No bad news, I hope, dear?"

Jill turned the letter between her fingers.

"Jill, is it bad news?"

"Derek has broken off