single note of the score. Finally, Anthony wanted no peace-making.
What had he to do with peace?

The silver cord was loosed, but he had not loosed it. The golden bowl
was broken, but not at his hand. It was she--Valerie French--that had
wrought the havoc. That cord and bowl were the property as much of
Anthony as of her had not weighed with the lady. As if this were not
enough, he was to be used like a leper.... What had he to do with
peace?

The thought that he had been able to pick up the glove she had thrown
down with such a flourish elated him strangely. To kiss My Lady
Disdain upon the mouth--that was an answer. That would teach her to
draw upon an unarmed man. For she had thought him weaponless. What
footman carries a sword? And then, in the nick of time, Fate had
thrust a rapier into the flunkey's hand....

Lady Touchstone was speaking....

"Well, well," she said gently, "perhaps you're right. I'm sorry, you
know. I saw two lives smashed once by a clerical error on the part of
a florist's assistant. I knew them both, too, but neither would speak.
When it was just too late, Eleanor opened her mouth.... Unknown to
her, I went to the florist's shop and looked at their order-book. Sure
enough, there was the trouble. I never told her, of course. But it's
haunted me ever since. Two lives ... smashed.... And they say that
silence is golden.... When you do go, will you let me have your
address?"

"I can imagine nothing more worthless," said Anthony. "But I think
I've been rude enough. I promise to send it you."

For no apparent reason he laughed bitterly. His companion shuddered.

"Don't laugh like that, Major Lyveden. It's bad for my heart. Oh,
dear. How fast George is driving! We shall be at Bell Hammer before
we know where we are." Suddenly she leaned forward and caught at the
footman's sleeve. "Anthony Lyveden, I've shown you my hand. As you
love my niece, what is the trouble?"

Anthony set his teeth.

"Can't be done," he said, "Lady Touchstone. We've got to work it out
for ourselves."

"Curse your pride," said that lady. "There. Now I've sworn at you.
But it's your own fault. And how are you two goats going to work it
out for yourselves? With one of you bleating at Nice, and the
other--Heaven knows where--in England? D'you go to church, Anthony
Lyveden?"

"I used to."

"Then go again. Get to your knees and pray. Pray to be delivered from
blindness of heart, A