. . . Only if we all did, it would become the thing to do,
and we'd soon get turned out of there by successful swindlers. They
follow one round, confound 'em--trying to pretend they talk the same
language."

"When is Miss Devereux going to be married?" asked Vane as the old man
paused for breath.

"Very soon. . . . Fortnight or three weeks. Quite a quiet affair, you
know; Baxter is dead against any big function. Besides, he has to run
over to France so often, and so unexpectedly, that it might have to be
postponed a day or two at the last moment. Makes it awkward if half
London has been asked."

The car swung through the gates and rolled up the drive to the house.
The brown tints of autumn were just beginning to show on the trees, and
an occasional fall of dead leaves came fluttering down as they passed
underneath. Then, all too quickly for Vane, they were at the house,
and the chauffeur was holding open the door of the car. Now that he
was actually there--now that another minute would bring him face to
face with Joan--he had become unaccountably nervous.

He followed Mr. Sutton slowly up the steps, and spent an unnecessarily
long time taking off his coat. He felt rather like a boy who had been
looking forward intensely to his first party, and is stricken with
shyness just as he enters the drawing-room.

"Come in, come in, my boy, and get warm." Mr. Sutton threw open a
door. "Mary, my dear, who do you think I found in Lewes? Young Derek
Vane--I've brought him along. . . ."

Vane followed him into the room as he was speaking, and only he noticed
that Joan half rose from her chair, and then sank back again, while a
wave of colour flooded her cheeks, and then receded, leaving them
deathly white. With every pulse in his body hammering, but outwardly
quite composed, Vane shook hands with Mrs. Sutton.

"So kind of your husband," he murmured. "He found me propping up the
hotel smoking-room, and rescued me from such a dreadful
operation. . . ."

Mrs. Sutton beamed on him. "But it's delightful, Captain Vane. I'm so
glad you could come. Let me see--you know Miss Devereux, don't you?"

Vane turned to Joan, and for the moment their eyes met. "I think I
have that pleasure," he said in a low voice. "I believe I have to
congratulate you, Miss Devereux, on your approaching marriage."

He heard Joan give a gasp, and barely caught her whispered answer: "My
God! why have you come?"

He turned round and saw