let it come between them. If it covered him, it should wrap
her too. The commonplace woman had no fear of its descent, only as far
as it affected him.

"Nothing," she said after awhile, "could make a difference to our
marriage, Luke. Except, of course, if you ceased to care."

"Or you, Lou," he suggested meekly.

"Do you think," she retorted, "that I should? Just because you had no
money?"

"Not," he owned, "because of that. But I should be such a nonentity. I
have no real profession, and there are the others. Jim in the Blues
costs a fearful lot a year, and Frank in the diplomatic service must
have his promised allowance. I have read for the bar, but beyond that
what am I?"

"Your uncle's right hand," she retorted firmly, "his agent, his
secretary, his factotum, all rolled into one. You manage his estates,
his charities, his correspondence. You write his speeches and control
his household. Lord Radclyffe--every one says it in London--would not
be himself at all without Luke de Mountford behind him."

"That's not what I mean, Lou."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that--"

He paused a moment then added with seeming irrelevance:

"We all know that Uncle Rad is a curious kind of man. If this story
turns out to be true, he would still say nothing, but he would fret
and fret and worry himself into his grave."

"The story," she argued obstinately, "will not turn out to be true.
It's not like you, Luke, to jump at conclusions, or to be afraid of a
nightmare."

"I am not afraid," he rejoined simply. "But I must look at
possibilities. Yes, dear," he continued more forcibly, "it is possible
that this story is true. No good saying that it is impossible:
improbable if you like, but not impossible. Look at it how you like,
you must admit that it is not impossible. Uncle Arthur may have
married in Martinique; he was out there in 1881; he may have had a
son; his telling no one about his marriage is not to be wondered at;
he was always reticent and queer about his own affairs. This Philip
may possibly be Uncle Rad's sole and rightful heir, and I may possibly
be a beggar."

She uttered an exclamation of incredulity. Luke, a beggar! Luke the
one man in all the world, different from every other man! Luke ousted
by that stranger upstart!

God hath too much sense of humour to allow so ridiculous a Fate to
work her silly caprice.

"And," she said with scorn, "because of all these absurd possibilities
you talk of breaking