“Look here,” he said, “if you want to be happy, Nell, you’ll take my advice. _Back out before it’s too late._ If you and he marry, you’re done. Madge and I’ve always been afraid that you wouldn’t be able to hold him. Well, it looks as though we were right. . . . You’re awfully sweet, Nell, and David’s one of the best. He’ld never go looking for trouble—he’s not that sort. But he’s an attractive man, and there are plenty of girls. Only a strong personality—a charm that fills up his life—will ever hold David Herrick.” “I see,” said Eleanor slowly, nodding her head. “And my charm’s not strong enough?” “I’m frightfully sorry, Nell, but I’m afraid it isn’t. The mercy is that you haven’t burned your boats.” There was a long silence. From behind the closed door a sudden swell of applause came to their ears, subduing for an instant the faint roar and jingle of the traffic, the toots of innumerable horns, and even the staccato clamour of a fire-engine’s tongue. Then the demonstration died down, leaving the distant racket to snarl and grumble over the bone of silence as a beast frets jealously over the consumption of its prey. At length— “Well, I’m greatly obliged,” said Miss Cloke, with a dry laugh. “It was a good thing I wrote, wasn’t it?” “It was Fate,” said Crispin piously. “‘There’s a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will.’” “No doubt,” said Eleanor. “Any way, you’ve opened my eyes—wide. . . . By the way, have you got my, er, application or did you leave it on the piano?” Crispin began to search his pockets. “I had it,” he murmured. “I remember thinking when I was dressing ‘I must not leave that about.’” “Never mind,” said Eleanor in a shaking voice. “I expect the servants have found it and thrown it away.” “Here it is,” said Crispin triumphantly. Eleanor snatched the letter and thrust it into her bag. Then she rose to her feet. “If you don’t mind,” she said, “I think I’ll go. Don’t let me take you away. I’m only sorry to have put you to so much expense.” “My dear,” said Crispin, “the thought that I’ve opened your eyes makes it cheap at the price.” “It is obvious,” said Eleanor, “that the great thing in life is to know oneself.” “That’s the idea,” cried Crispin, thumping the table with his fist. “You’ve got it in one, Nell. And it’s never too late to begin.” Speechless with indignation, Miss Cloke regarded him. Then she recovered her face and began to shake with laughter. . . . Crispin watched her open-mouthed. At last she pulled herself together and passed to the door. “Poor . . . old . . . Madge,” she said deliberately. Crispin swallowed. “Oh, it’s nothing,” he said. “She’s only rather tired.” “I’m not surprised,” said Eleanor. “I think I should be—_rather tired_ . . . after five years.” The next second she was gone. Captain Willoughby took out a handkerchief and proceeded to mop his face. Then he stepped to a mirror and adjusted his tie.