take an early
train in the morning to Priory Court; he was tired of London and the
recent excitement he had passed through, and longed for his country
home. But, on second thought, he altered his mind, and concluded to wait
until Jack Vernon was a free man again; he was strangely interested in
the unfortunate young artist, and was as anxious as ever to have a talk
with him on matters of a private nature.

Jimmie went to his chambers in the Albany, where he removed the dust of
travel and changed his clothes. He did not at once go out to dinner,
though he was exceedingly hungry. He was impulsive and impatient, and he
had conceived a plan whereby he might punish Victor Nevill's perfidy
without a public exposure, and at the same time, he fondly hoped, do
Jack a good turn.

"It will hardly be safe to wait longer," he reflected, "for all I know
to the contrary, the girl may be married to-morrow. She will be glad to
have her eyes opened--I can't believe that she is in love with that
blackguard. As for Sir Lucius, I would rather face a battery of guns
than tell the dear old chap the shameful story to his face. But it must
be told somehow."

Jimmie proceeded to carry out his plans. He took Diane's last letter
from its hiding-place, and sitting down to his desk he made two copies
of it, prefacing each with a brief explanation of how the statement had
come into his hands. It was a laborious task, and it kept him busy for
two hours. At nine o'clock he went out to dinner, and on the way to the
Cafe Royal he dropped two bulky letters into a street-box. One was
addressed to "Miss Madge Foster, Strand-on-the-Green, Chiswick, W." The
other to "Sir Lucius Chesney, Morley's Hotel."

* * * * *

It was ten o'clock in the morning, and the phenomenal November weather
showed no signs of breaking up. The sun shone brightly in Trafalgar
Square, and the people and busses, the hoary old Nelson Column and its
guardian lions, made a picture more Continental than English in its
coloring.

But to Sir Lucius Chesney the world looked as black as midnight. He
paced the floor of his room, purple of countenance and savage of eye,
letting slip an occasional oath as he glanced at the sheets of Jimmie's
letter scattered over the table. The blow had hit him hard; it had
wounded him in his most tender spot--his family honor. His first
paroxysm of rage had passed, but he could not think calmly. His brain
was on fire with pe