eden was about to commit his dispatch to the posting-box--in fact,
his hand was outstretched--when, to the amazement of a cock-robin who
frequented the pillar for company's sake, and had seen more letters
posted than there were feathers upon his back, he hesitated, exclaimed,
stared at the letter with knitted brow, and then thrust it back into
his pocket.

The truth was that Lyveden had thought of the lady.

He strolled no farther, but walked--and that furiously. There were
times when he strode. By the time he had covered eight miles and was
on his way back, he was tramping wearily. He visited the Home and
learned that his dog was mending. For fear of exciting the patient, he
would not go in, but promised to come the next day. Then he passed on,
hardly noticing whither he went, but turning mechanically, when he had
covered five miles, wrestling with arguments, grappling with
circumstances, and finally setting himself by the ears for a lovesick
fool and a varlet in coat-armour.

Her dog, housed at the Dogs' Home, had brought her to Hertfordshire.
Now that the poor little fellow was dead, Anthony flattered himself
that he (Lyveden) might possibly bring her so far. And if he were to
take this situation in the country--Heaven only knew where--she would
come to seek him in vain, and would go empty away. That even if he
stayed and she found him, and came to care for him, she would
eventually go still more empty away, was a still uglier reflection....
Anthony was honourable, and there was the rub of rubs. That the shoe
which Fate had tossed him was a misfit was nothing: that his sense of
honour was chafed was intolerable.

"Now, Naaman ... was a great man with his master and honourable ... but
he was a leper."

After some consideration, Anthony decided grudgingly that, on the
whole, leprosy was worse than footmanhood, though less degrading.
After further consideration, he decided that, until he could be rid of
his uncleanness, he was in honour bound to see my lady no more.

That it took him seven miles to work out this simple problem may seem
ridiculous. Possibly it is. In any case it is highly illuminating,
for it shows that the love which he bore Miss Valerie French was worth
having.

When he posted his letter at a quarter to eight, the cock-robin, who
had been brooding over his late transilience, was greatly relieved.

* * * * *

Upon the second day of August the one-fifteen fr