utterly woebegone that his friends
at once exerted themselves to offer such consolation as the case
admitted of. Reardon thought better of Whelpdale for this emotion; he
had not believed him capable of it.

'It isn't a case of vulgar cheating!' cried the forsaken one presently.
'Don't go away thinking that. She writes in real distress and
penitence--she does indeed. Oh, the devil! Why did I let her go to
Birmingham? A fortnight more, and I should have had her safe. But it's
just like my luck. Do you know that this is the third time I've been
engaged to be married?--no, by Jove, the fourth! And every time the girl
has got out of it at the last moment. What an unlucky beast I am! A girl
who was positively my ideal! I haven't even a photograph of her to show
you; but you'd be astonished at her face. Why, in the devil's name, did
I let her go to Birmingham?'

The visitors had risen. They felt uncomfortable, for it seemed as if
Whelpdale might find vent for his distress in tears.

'We had better leave you,' suggested Biffen. 'It's very hard--it is
indeed.'

'Look here! Read the letter for yourselves! Do!'

They declined, and begged him not to insist.

'But I want you to see what kind of girl she is. It isn't a case of
farcical deceiving--not a bit of it! She implores me to forgive her, and
blames herself no end. Just my luck! The third--no, the fourth time, by
Jove! Never was such an unlucky fellow with women. It's because I'm so
damnably poor; that's it, of course!'

Reardon and his companion succeeded at length in getting away, though
not till they had heard the virtues and beauty of the vanished girl
described again and again in much detail. Both were in a state of
depression as they left the house.

'What think you of this story?' asked Biffen. 'Is this possible in a
woman of any merit?'

'Anything is possible in a woman,' Reardon replied, harshly.

They walked in silence as far as Portland Road Station. There, with an
assurance that he would come to a garret-supper before leaving London,
Reardon parted from his friend and turned westward.

As soon as he had entered, Amy's voice called to him:

'Here's a letter from Jedwood, Edwin!'

He stepped into the study.

'It came just after you went out, and it has been all I could do to
resist the temptation to open it.'

'Why shouldn't you have opened it?' said her husband, carelessly.

He tried to do so himself, but his shaking hand thwarted him at first.
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