“None in the world,” she answered. “There couldn’t have been. We’ve made all the inquiries that were possible. Why, my father’s private bank-books for years and years back exist to this day, and there’s no payment in them that can’t be traced. There would have been mysterious cheques if there were anything of the sort, but there’s nothing, nothing. And mother--well, you know the Greek system of dealing with girls--she was shut up in a harem till she--till she came out here to father. No, it’s inexplicable.” “Well, if Kitty’s obstinate _not_ to imitate people,” Grimshaw commented, “you can only say that Katya’s obstinacy takes the form of imitation.” Mrs. Langham gave vent to a little sort of wail. “You aren’t going back on Katya?” she said. “It isn’t true, is it, that there’s another?” “I don’t know whether it’s true or not true,” Grimshaw said, “but you can take it that to-day’s ceremony has hit me a little hard. Katya is always first, but think of that dear little woman tied to the sort of obtuse hypochondriac that Dudley Leicester is!” “Oh, but there’s nothing in Pauline Lucas,” Mrs. Langham objected, “and I shouldn’t say Dudley was a hypochondriac. He looks the picture of health.” “Ah, you don’t know Dudley Leicester as I do,” Grimshaw said. “I’ve been his best friend for years.” “I know you’ve been very good to him,” Ellida Langham answered. “I know I have,” Grimshaw replied, as nearly as possible grimly. “And haven’t I now given him what was dearest and best to me?” “But Katya?” Mrs. Langham said. “One wants Katya,” Grimshaw said--“one wants Katya. She is vigour, she is life, she is action, she is companionship. One wants her, if you like, because she is chivalry itself, and so she’s obstinate; but, if one can’t have Katya, one wants....” He paused and looked at the dachshund that, when he paused, paused and looked back at him. “That’s what one wants,” he continued. “One wants tenderness, fidelity, pretty grace, quaintness, and, above all, worship. Katya could give me companionship; but wouldn’t Pauline have given me worship?” “But still ...” Mrs. Langham commenced. “Oh, I know,” Grimshaw interrupted, “there’s nothing _in_ her, but still....” “But still,” Mrs. Langham mocked him, “dear old Toto, you _do_ want to talk about her. Let’s take another little turn; I can give you five minutes more.” She beckoned to her car to come in at the gates and follow them along the side-walk past the tall barracks in the direction of Kensington. “Yes, I dearly want to talk about Pauline,” Grimshaw said, and his cousin laughed out the words: