“If she doesn’t answer,” she said, “I shall be really worried. Silence can only mean one of two things: either that she doesn’t know how to behave——” “Oh, she knows how to behave all right.” “—or that she’s almost beside herself.” “No, no,” said Virgil. “June’s not that kind of girl. I shan’t be at all surprised, if she doesn’t reply. In fact, I should be rather surprised, if she did. You know, I had a feeling, when I wrote that letter, that it would never be answered. You see, June——” “But you used to kiss her, you know.” Pardoner pulled his moustache. “Once in a while,” he said. “But I never made a meal of it. It was more of a salute.” Miss Vulliamy stared across the room. “I think,” she said softly, “your love for her is very beautiful.” “Was,” said Virgil uneasily. “I’ve—I’ve trodden it under.” Sarah shuddered. “Hush,” she said. “Hush. Don’t talk like that, Virgil. It’s—it’s blasphemy.” As she spoke, a page came to the table. “Mr. Pardoner, sir?” “Yes,” said Virgil. “Miss Townshend would like to speak to you, sir, on the telephone.” Pardoner started. Then he turned to Sarah with a sheepish smile. “Who’s come in on this little deal?” he demanded. “Whatever d’you mean?” said Miss Vulliamy, striving to keep her voice steady. “Nothing doing,” said Virgil, continuing to smile. “Admit it’s a plant.” “By all that’s solemn,” said Sarah. “I swear I’ve nothing to do with it.” “But you’ve——” “I haven’t, Virgil. I swear I haven’t, I’ld—I’ld be ashamed,” she added tearfully. Three times did her betrothed endeavour to speak. At the fourth attempt— “Must be some mistake,” he muttered, wiping his brow. Then he turned to the page. “All right. I’ll come.” He bowed an apology to Sarah and followed his executioner out of the room. . . . Of the two, Sarah was, if possible, the more dumbfounded. Upon the very first evening she had made up her mind that Miss June Townshend was non-existent. She could have sworn that Pardoner had invented the lady, to be a foil to George Fulke. Gleefully, she had decided to turn the foil into a lash to be laid mischievously about her fiancé’s shoulders. The laborious drafting of the letter to June had afforded her the highest gratification, and her searching cross-examinations of Virgil upon his associations with the lady had never failed to bear her most refreshing fruit. Now, without a word of warning, the Palace of Fun had fallen, and out of the ruins were sticking some extremely ill-favoured truths. The very least of these was suggesting that the edifice had been erected upon a foundation of distasteful fact. It was while she was staring at Virgil’s empty place, considering these things, that for the first time she realized something which was still more to the point. This was that with her future husband she was most heartily in love. . . . Pardoner walked down the hall, thinking furiously. Arrived at the box, he took the spare receiver and told the page to speak for him.