So far as the two were concerned, the result of their union was natural enough. Each began to assume something of the other’s outstanding quality. A sheen stole upon the nap of Crispin’s steadfastness. The charm of Madge’s brilliance began to crystallize. American by birth, the lady would have graced any company. She was tall and beautifully made. Some said her neck was too long, but I do not think so. Be that as it may, it was the neck of a goddess. The Willoughby emeralds had never looked half so well. Soft brown hair and laughing eyes, a fine colour and an exquisite mouth went to the making of a countenance you never forgot. Her air, her easy dignity, her flow of excellent talk—above all, that precious radiance which could coax flame from smoking flax would have ennobled a hunchback. Wherever she went, Madge Willoughby was constantly aerating the wine of life. Often enough she turned it into champagne. Crispin was thirty-five and a handsome man. Tall, quiet, pleasant, grave-faced, he suggested a strength and depth of character not to be met every day. The suggestion was true. The deeper you dug, the finer the ore you came to. But, until his marriage, the mine had to be worked. His style, his manners were perfect—and always had been; he inspired astounding confidence. But he had been reserved—shy. Only among his familiars would he let himself go. . . . Five years with Madge had altered everything. The man had shed his reserve and given his spirits their head. His humour came bubbling. Invariably he led the dance. And Madge watched him leading with the gentlest light in her eyes. . . . The opposition of two such fair planets, no less than their several conjunction with stars almost as bright, was bound to excite remark. Eyebrows were raised; whispers were repeated; nudges were covertly exchanged. Soon an impatient confidence that smoke so thick must be the greasy harbinger of conflagration set tongues wagging. * * * * * It was on the evening of the nineteenth of April, as Mrs. Willoughby and Herrick were returning by taxi from choosing a breakfast set, that the latter threw his cigarette out of the window, took the lady in his arms and kissed her upon the mouth. “_David!_” She shook him off and shrank into her corner, trembling violently. Herrick took out his handkerchief and wiped his face. This was unnaturally pale. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I beg your pardon. I—I don’t know why I did it. I think—I think it was your perfume. I shall smell it all my life, dear . . . your faint perfume.” “_David!_” The horror of the girl’s tone was reflected in her beautiful eyes. The man nodded. “Yes, it’s true,” he said. “I’ve fallen in love with you.” “Oh, David . . .” She began to wail tremulously, twisting her fingers as though in an agony of mind.