Roland, perspiring in the shadows at the far end of the room, felt that Miss Chilvers was overdoing it. There was no earthly need for all this sort of thing. Just a simple announcement of the engagement would have been quite sufficient. It was too obvious to him that his ally was thoroughly enjoying herself. She had the center of the stage, and did not intend lightly to relinquish it. “My good girl,” said Lady Kimbuck, “talk less and prove more. When did Mr. Bleke promise to marry you?” “Oh, it's all right. I'm not expecting you to believe my word. I've got all the proofs you'll want. Here's his letters.” Lady Kimbuck's eyes gleamed. She took the package eagerly. She never lost an opportunity of reading compromising letters. She enjoyed them as literature, and there was never any knowing when they might come in useful. “Roland,” said Lady Eva, quietly, “haven't you anything to contribute to this conversation?” Miss Chilvers clutched at her bodice. Cinema palaces were a passion with her, and she was up in the correct business. “Is he here? In this room?” Roland slunk from the shadows. “Mr. Bleke,” said Lord Evenwood, sternly, “who is this woman?” Roland uttered a kind of strangled cough. “Are these letters in your handwriting?” asked Lady Kimbuck, almost cordially. She had seldom read better compromising letters in her life, and she was agreeably surprized that one whom she had always imagined a colorless stick should have been capable of them. Roland nodded. “Well, it's lucky you're rich,” said Lady Kimbuck philosophically. “What are you asking for these?” she enquired of Miss Chilvers. “Exactly,” said Lord Evenwood, relieved. “Precisely. Your sterling common sense is admirable, Sophia. You place the whole matter at once on a businesslike footing.” “Do you imagine for a moment----?” began Miss Chilvers slowly. “Yes,” said Lady Kimbuck. “How much?” Miss Chilvers sobbed. “If I have lost him for ever----” Lady Eva rose. “But you haven't,” she said pleasantly. “I wouldn't dream of standing in your way.” She drew a ring from her finger, placed it on the table, and walked to the door. “I am not engaged to Mr. Bleke,” she said, as she reached it. Roland never knew quite how he had got away from The Towers. He had confused memories in which the principals of the drawing-room scene figured in various ways, all unpleasant. It was a portion of his life on which he did not care to dwell. Safely back in his flat, however, he gradually recovered his normal spirits. Indeed, now that the tumult and the shouting had, so to speak, died, and he was free to take a broad view of his position, he felt distinctly happier than usual. That Lady Kimbuck had passed for ever from his life was enough in itself to make for gaiety. * * * * *