I am
determined not to see her again. Let her understand that, and tell her
that I will give her three hundred pounds on condition that she goes
abroad and never shows her face in England again. And another thing,
there must be no further appeals to me."

"Bind her tight, in writing," suggested Jimmie.

"It's asking a lot of you, Nevill," said Jack, "but if you don't mind--"

"My dear fellow, it is a mere trifle. I will gladly help you in the
matter to my utmost power, and I only wish I could do more."

"That's the way to talk," put in Jimmie. "Can I be of any assistance,
Nevill? I've a persuasive sort of way with women--"

"Thanks, but I can manage much better alone, I think." Nevill took a
memorandum book from his pocket, and turned over the pages. "Trust all
to me, Jack," he added. "I am free to-morrow after four o'clock. I will
see Diane--your wife--fix the terms with her, and come down in the
evening to report to you."

"What time?"

"That is uncertain. But you will be here?"

"Yes; I shall expect you," said Jack. "I can't thank you enough. It's a
blessing for a chap to have a couple of friends like you and Jimmie."

"You would do as much for me," replied Nevill. "I'm going to see you
through your trouble."

Jack walked abruptly to the open window, and looked out into the starry
night.

"What does it matter," he thought, "whether I am rid of Diane or not? I
have lost my darling. Madge is dead to me. I can't grasp it yet. How can
I tell her?--how can I live without her?"

"Are you going up to town, Jimmie?" Nevill asked. "My cab is waiting,
and you can share it."

"No; I shall stop with poor old Jack," Jimmie replied. "I don't like to
leave him alone."

"That's good of you. It's a terrible blow, isn't it?"

Nevill went away, and Jimmie remained to comfort his friend. But there
was no consolation for Jack, whose bitter mood had turned to dull
despair and grief that would be more poignant in the morning, when he
would be better able to comprehend the fell blow that had shattered his
happiness and crushed his ambitions and dreams. He refused pipe and
cigars. Until three o'clock he sat staring vacantly at the floor,
seemingly oblivious of Jimmie's presence, and occasionally helping
himself to brandy. At last he fell asleep in the chair, and Jimmie, who
had with difficulty kept his eyes open, dozed away on the couch.

Meanwhile, Victor Nevill had driven straight to his rooms in Jermyn
street and had