“You must. It’s the only way. Then, having got so far, say, ‘as a matter of fact,’ you’re not at all sure that she hasn’t noticed something. That’ll make him sit up. It’ll also make him ask questions. You’ll beat about the bush till you get to the sweet. Then say you’ll tell him when the servants are gone.” “Go on,” said Madge, bubbling. “When you’re alone, extract his word to say nothing, and then tell him bluntly we’ve a sort of idea that she’s looking at somebody else. Refuse to say who it is—that shouldn’t be difficult—but say he’s a pretty strong man. Add casually that of course it isn’t everyone that could hold a girl like Nell and that, ‘to tell the truth,’ you and I’d always said that the one thing we were afraid of was that he wouldn’t be strong enough to hold her affection.” “Yes, yes,”—excitedly. “Well, that’s all. He’ll snort and blow a bit. He may even grind his teeth. But if you do it well, you’ll bring it off. First you wound his pride and then you slap its face. No matter what he says, I’ll bet he leaves this house mentally swearing he’ll show us whether he can hold Nell. . . . As for his loving you, sweetheart, you’ll have blotted that frenzy out.” For a moment his wife looked thoughtful. Then she got upon her feet. “Crip,” she said, gently smoothing his hair, “you’ve got a lightning brain.” “I’ve got a peach of a wife,” said Crispin Willoughby. He smacked the Sealyham’s flank. “Haven’t I, Boodle?” The terrier sneezed his assent. Husband and wife laughed. Then— “I’d better telephone now,” said Mrs. Willoughby. “There’s only one thing you haven’t thought of, Crip. Obviously David and I can’t continue our raids. How’s that to be explained? Nell will want to know why.” Crispin removed his pipe and regarded its bowl. “I know,” he said. “We’ll say Aunt Millicent’s ill and burst off to Como at once. A couple of weeks in Italy’ll suit me down to the ground.” “And me,” said Madge. “Give me the home of romance.” “But not its occupant?” “No—unless she can show a good title.” Husband and wife smiled. Arrived at the door, Madge paused. “I suppose you must go out,” she said wistfully. “I must, my darling. This is a one man show. Besides, I think my job is to get hold of Nell. You don’t want her blowing in to spoke your wheel.” “My word, no,” said Mrs. Willoughby. “I’ll say you’re tired and take her to see the play.” “Right.” The door closed. For a moment or two Crispin continued to brush the Sealyham. Then he rose to his feet and picked up the letter on which he had been sitting. He re-read it carefully. _You ask me why I never turned up this morning. I can see no earthly reason why you shouldn’t know. Convention has offered me fifty, but they’re none of them sound. If either of us was a fool, if the understanding which you and Madge share was less perfect, finally, if you were almost any sort of man but the sort of man you are, it would be different. As it is. . . ._