“I suppose I ought to congratulate you, Poictiers, but I can’t just now; I’m too new a widower. You’ll have to hug your happiness alone for the present. You’ll excuse me, won’t you? But, see here--how about this little side-play with Richardia? You’re not going to be allowed to play fast and loose with her--not while I’m here to prevent it.” Carfax was absently fingering the packet of letters. “Hold on, Vance,” he broke in, “you’ve been saying, all along, that this last attack of yours--with Richardia--was the real thing; that there was no sentiment between you and Elizabeth.” “That’s all very well,” said the attacked one, in a fresh thrill of self-pityings; “but I’m like the little kiddie who dropped his candy to reach for another piece and lost both. Just the same, it seems that you are due to get yours, too; you’ve proposed to one woman when you were in love with another. What did Richardia say to you when you asked her to marry you? That’s what I want to know now.” The cherubic smile which was waiting for its chance in Carfax’s eyes turned slowly into an impish grin. “As nearly as I can recall it, she said: ‘Most certainly not. Why should I?’ Of course, you have guessed that I asked her merely to give you a chance to be decently loyal to Elizabeth. Miss Richardia took it as it was meant, and we have been very good friends, playing the game at odd moments for your benefit when you seemed to be needing a bit of help.” “Oh, yes; you were very kind; you are all very kind. But that doesn’t mend any broken bridges for me now. Do you want me to tell you why Richardia turned you and your ridiculous fortune down so easily? I can, you know,” and with that he told the story of his chance surprising of Miss Birrell’s secret. Carfax heard him through patiently and did not seem unduly surprised at the new development. “That accounts for a good many things,” he commented. “I have had a feeling for some time that Miss Richardia had something on her mind--something not altogether joyous. Once or twice she has seemed on the verge of confiding in me. It’s a case of the obdurate father, isn’t it?” “I suppose so; though Hartridge didn’t hint at anything of that sort.” “So Hartridge knows, too, does he?” “They all know at Highmount, I fancy. And that reminds me: I’ve done it again--talked too much, as usual. I met Hartridge after I had seen the pair of them together, and we spoke of the love affair. Hartridge said it was Richardia’s secret, and that her friends had been carefully keeping it for her. I shouldn’t have told you.” “It is safe enough with me, as you ought to know: you will be the one to go and tell it all over the lot,” was the unkind retort. And then: “These letters of Elizabeth’s; she ought to have them, don’t you think? Do you suppose I might----?” Tregarvon waved him away.