with laughter. I broke it off finally and she
said I should probably break it on again next day."

"And did you?"

"Nothing of the kind. I went away and wrote her a really beautiful
letter. I said that I would wipe out the past and begin afresh if she
promised never even to recognise Captain Henderson again in the
street--or anywhere."

"What did she say, Mr. Vere?"

"Say! She wired 'Sorry imprac.' So it's all over. Now, what do you
advise?"

"If you would only leave her alone for about two minutes, she would come
round all right; she is so used to you. Or, make her jealous."

"Well, I hope you'll forgive me, but I did try that. In our last
interview I said I was coming to see you, and that you were a really
womanly woman."

"Oh, thanks very much," said Felicity angrily. "What did she say to
that?"

"Laughed that awful laugh of hers, and said I need not worry, as you
were very busy."

"She was perfectly right, I am," said Felicity. "Have you left her alone
since that?"

"Practically. At least, I only sent her a little thing I thought she'd
like."

"A diamond horse-shoe--by any chance?"

"Oh, just a trifle as a souvenir of our long friendship. Then I
suggested we should have one final meeting--a _diner d'adieu_."

"And she didn't send the trinket back, and she didn't refuse? Oh, you're
all right!"

"I am not all right, dear Lady Chetwode."

"When are you going to see her again?"

"I'm bound to say that I hope to see her next Saturday evening. But just
think! She has actually spoken, written of me as a 'hopeless idiot'!"

"Yes. I understood that."

"Should a man forgive such a thing?"

At this stage Felicity's eyes began straying to the clock. "Certainly,
if it is true," she said absently.

He left a copy of "Cruel as the Grave" when he went, with many
expressions of gratitude, and Felicity said to herself: "What an
extraordinary thing! What can he see in Agatha? What can Agatha see in
Bob? And there is Vera Ogilvie--really pretty and charming--worrying
herself about that dull Captain Henderson, who makes love to every woman
he sees, and doesn't care two straws about her." At this point she took
up a very handsome photograph of her husband, and looked at it until the
tears came into her eyes. It was a charming portrait.

When Bertie Wilton arrived, she brightened up a good deal. He looked
better in the afternoon than in the evening, she thought. She liked his
bright, intelligent face. And con