nd ran towards John, crying, "Oh, Mr. Ashforth!"

While Charlie, advancing more timidly to Mary, murmured: "Forgive me,
but--"

Mary with a slight bow, John with a lift of his hat, both without a
halt or a word, passed through the room, arm-in-arm, and vanished from
Mr. Painter's establishment.

Sir Roger had seized on Laing's champagne and was pouring it out. He
stopped now, and looked at Dora. A sudden gleam of intelligence glanced
from her eyes. Rushing up to him, she whispered, "You did it all? It
was all a hoax?"

He nodded.

"And why?"

"Ask Charlie Ellerton," he answered.

"Oh, but Mr. Ashforth and Mary Travers are so angry!"

"With one another?"

"No, with us."

Sir Roger looked her mercilessly full in the face, regardless of her
blushes.

"That," he observed with emphasis, "is exactly what you wanted, Miss
Bellairs."

Then he turned to the company, holding a full glass in his hand.
"Ladies and gentlemen," said he, "some of us have had a narrow escape.
Whether we shall be glad of it or sorry hereafter, I don't know--do
you, Charlie? But hero's a health to----"

But Dora, glancing apprehensively at the General, whispered, "Not yet!"

"To Dynamite!" said Sir Roger Deane.

POSTSCRIPT

It should be added that a fuller, more graphic, and more sensational
account of the outrage in the Palais-Royal than this pen has been
capable of inscribing will appear, together with much other curious and
enlightening matter, in Lady Deane's next work. The author also takes
occasion in that work--and there is little doubt that the subject was
suggested by the experiences of some of her friends--to discuss the
nature, quality, and duration of the Passion of Love. She concludes--if
it be permissible thus far to anticipate the publication of her
book--that all True Love is absolutely permanent and indestructible,
untried by circumstance and untouched by time; and this opinion is, she
says, indorsed by every woman who has ever been in love. Thus
fortified, the conclusion seems beyond cavil. If, therefore, any
incidents here recorded appear to conflict with it, we must imitate the
discretion of Plato and say, either these persons were not Sons of the
Gods--that is. True Lovers--or they did not do such things.
Unfortunately, however, Lady Deane's proof-sheets were accessible too
late to allow of the title of this story being changed. So it must
stand--"The Wheel of Love;" but if any lady (men are worse than