ion of the angelic Nellie, of the
three children, and of his mother. But it seemed to him that his own
case differed in some very subtle and yet effective manner from the
similar case of any other married man. And he lived, unharassed by
apprehensions, in the lively joy of the moment.

"But," she said, "I hope you won't come to see me act."

"Why?"

"Because I should prefer you not to. You would not be sympathetic to
me."

"Oh, yes, I should."

"I shouldn't feel it so." And then, with a swift disarrangement of all
the folds of her skirt, she turned and faced him. "Mr. Machin, do you
know why I've let you come with me?"

"Because you're a good-natured woman," he said.

She grew even graver, shaking her head.

"No! I simply wanted to tell you that you've ruined Rose--my cousin."

"Miss Euclid? Me ruined Miss Euclid!"

"Yes. You robbed her of her theatre--her one chance."

He blushed. "Excuse me," he said. "I did no such thing. I simply
bought her option from her. She was absolutely free to keep the option
or let it go."

"The fact remains," said Elsie April, with humid eyes, "the fact
remains that she'd set her heart on having that theatre, and you
failed her at the last instant. And she has nothing, and you've got
the theatre entirely in your own hands. I'm not so silly as to suppose
that you can't defend yourself legally. But let me tell you that Rose
went to the United States heart-broken, and she's playing to empty
houses there--empty houses! Whereas she might have been here in
London, interested in her theatre, and preparing for a successful
season."

"I'd no idea of this," breathed Edward Henry. He was dashed. "I'm
awfully sorry!"

"Yes, no doubt. But there it is!"

Silence fell. He knew not what to say. He felt himself in one way
innocent, but he felt himself in another way blackly guilty. His
remorse for the telephone-trick which he had practised on Rose Euclid
burst forth again after a long period of quiescence simulating death,
and acutely troubled him.... No, he was not guilty! He insisted in
his heart that he was not guilty! And yet--and yet--No taxi-cab ever
travelled so quickly as that taxi-cab. Before he could gather together
his forces it had arrived beneath the awning of the Buckingham Palace
Hotel.

His last words to her were:

"Now I shan't change the day of my stone-laying. But don't worry about
your Conference. You know it'll be perfectly all right!" He spoke
archly, with a br