He produced a sovereign. Since the last kiss in the cab, nothing had afforded him one hundredth part of the joy which he experienced in parting with that sovereign. The transfer of the coin, so natural, so right, so proper, seemed to set a seal on what had occurred, to make it real and effective. He wished to shower gold upon her. As, bathed in joy and bliss, he watched her up the stairs, a little, obscure compartment of his brain was thinking: 'If anyone had told me two hours ago that before midnight I should be engaged to be married to the finest woman I ever saw, I should have said they were off their chumps. Curious, I've never mentioned her at home since she called! Rather awkward!' He turned sharply and resolutely to go to Morley's, and collided with Mr. Dolbiac, who, strangely enough, was standing immediately behind him, and gazing up the stairs, too. 'Ah, my bold buccaneer!' said Mr. Dolbiac familiarly. 'Digested those _marrons glaces_? I've fairly caught you out this time, haven't I?' Henry stared at him, startled, and blushed a deep crimson. 'You don't remember me. You've forgotten me,' said Mr. Dolbiac. 'It isn't Cousin Tom?' Henry guessed. 'Oh, isn't it?' said Mr. Dolbiac. 'That's just what it is.' Henry shook his hand generously. 'I'm awfully glad to see you,' he began, and then, feeling that he must be a man of the world: 'Come and have a drink. Are you stopping here?' The episode of Mrs. Ashton Portway's was, then, simply one of Cousin Tom's jokes, and he accepted it as such without the least demur or ill-will. 'It was you who sent that funny telegram, wasn't it?' he asked Cousin Tom. In the smoking-room Tom explained how he had grown a beard in obedience to the dictates of nature, and changed his name in obedience to the dictates of art. And Henry, for his part, explained sundry things about himself, and about Geraldine. The next morning, when Henry arrived at Dawes Road, decidedly late, Tom was already there. And more, he had already told the ladies, evidently in a highly-decorated narrative, of Henry's engagement! The situation for Henry was delicate in the extreme, but, anyhow, his mother and aunt had received the first shock. They knew the naked fact, and that was something. And of course Cousin Tom always made delicate situations: it was his privilege to do so. Cousin Tom's two aunts were delighted to see him again, and in a state so flourishing. He was asked no inconvenient questions, and he furnished no information. Bygones were bygones. Henry had never been told about the trifling incident of the ten pounds. 'She's coming down to-night,' Henry said, addressing his mother, after the mid-day meal. 'I'm very glad,' replied his mother. 'We shall be most pleased to welcome her,' Aunt Annie said. 'Well, Tom----' CHAPTER XXIII SEPARATION