akfast with me at nine precisely next day, and
each of us was solemnly pledged not to look at a newspaper until we
could open them together.

We went to the theatre the night before (the first time Terry could
endure the thought since his illness), and supped at the Savoy
afterward, simply to mitigate the suffering of suspense. Nevertheless, I
was up at seven-thirty A. M., and at eight-forty-eight was in the
breakfast room gazing at six newspapers neatly folded on the
flower-decked table.

At eight-fifty-one, my guest arrived, and by common consent we seized
the papers. He opened three. I opened three. Yes, there it _was_! How
perfect, how thrilling! How even better it appeared in print than we had
expected! Anxiously we read the other advertisements of country houses
to let or sell, and agreed that there was nothing whose attractions came
within miles of our, in all senses of the word, priceless offer.

How we got through the next two and a half hours I don't know!

I say two and a half advisedly: because, as Jones had six visits to pay,
we thought we might start him off at eleven-thirty. This we did; but his
calmness had damped us. _He_ wasn't excited. Was it probable that any
one else--except ourselves--could be?

Cold reaction set in. We prepared each other for the news that there
were no telegrams or answers of any sort. Terry said it was no use
concealing that this would be a bitter blow. I had not the energy to
correct his rhetoric, or whatever it was, by explaining that a blow
can't be bitter.

Twelve-thirty struck, and produced no Jones; twelve-forty-five; one;
Jones still missing.

"I ought to have told him to come back at once after the sixth place,
even if there wasn't a thing," said Terry. "Like a fool, I didn't: he
may have thought he'd do some other errands on the way home, if he'd
nothing to report. Donkey! Ass! Pig."

"Captain Burns' man, your highness," announced my maid. "He wants to
know----"

"Tell him to come in!" I shrieked.

"Yes, your highness. It was only, should he bring them all in here, or
leave them in Mr. Carstairs' apartment below."

"_All!_" gasped Terry.

"Here," I commanded.

Jones staggered in.

You won't believe it when I tell you, because you didn't see it. That
is, you won't unless _you_ have inserted _the_ Advertisement of the
Ages--the Unique, the Siren, the Best yet Cheapest--in six leading
London journals at once.

There were eight bundles wrapped in newspa