g, rather jumbled story, Dick; only two facts stand
out of it. One was that the baby was never born; Joan was in some sort
of accident when she first went back to London; and the other thing was
that this girl wanted me to use my influence to persuade you that Joan
really loved you; that what had angered you that night was all a
mistake." She broke off short, and began again quickly. "I did not
promise, Dick; in fact I told the girl I would do nothing to interfere.
'If he can find his happiness anywhere else I shall be glad,' I said.
And that is what I felt. I don't try and excuse myself; I never wanted
you to marry her if you could forget her, and, Dick, I almost hoped you
had--I was not going to remind you."

"I see," said Dick. His pipe had gone out. He lit it again slowly and
methodically. "Mabel," he said suddenly, "if I can persuade Joan to
marry me before I go out, will you be nice to her as my wife?"

"You can't marry her, Dick," Mabel remonstrated, "there isn't time. But
if you will trust me again beyond this, I promise to be as nice to her
as you would like me to be."

"But I can, and what's more, I will," Dick answered. "I've
shilly-shallied long enough. If she'll have me, and it would serve me
jolly well right if she turned me down--it shall be a special licence at
a registry office on Saturday morning. My train doesn't leave till
two-thirty." He stood up very tall and straight. Mabel thought she had
never seen him look so glad to be alive. "And now," he added, "I am
going straight across to ask her. Wish me luck, Mabel."

She stood up, too, and put both her hands on his. "You aren't angry with
me?" she whispered. "Dick, from the bottom of my heart, I do wish you
luck, as you call it."

"Angry? Lord bless you, no!" he said, and suddenly he bent and kissed
her. "You've argued about it, Mabel, but then I always knew you would
argue. I trust you to be good to her after I'm gone; what more can I
say?"

CHAPTER XXX

"But love is the great amulet which makes the World a Garden."

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

Colonel Rutherford and Joan had had breakfast early that morning, for
Uncle John was going to London to attend some big meeting, at which,
much to his own secret gratification, he had been asked to speak. He
rehearsed the greater part of what he was going to say to Joan during
breakfast, and on their way down to the station. He had long ago
forgiv