“There’ll be the devil to pay,” he said. “The poor old guv’nor will go off his head. Aunt Mary will go off her head. They’ll all go off their heads. I shall have to exchange and go out to India.” The colour had gone out of her cheeks. “Why should they punish you for me?” she asked. “Because it’s the law of the world,” he explained. “They’ve got to kick somebody. When he’s a millionaire with his seat in the House of Lords they’ll forgive us.” “You’re making me feel pretty mean and selfish,” she said. “Love is selfish,” he answered. “Don’t see how you can help that.” He halted suddenly in front of her. “You do love him?” he demanded. “You are not afraid to be selfish? You are going to let me down. You are going to hurt the guv’nor, very seriously. He hasn’t had much luck in life. This is going to be the last blow. You are willing to inflict it.” The tears were in her eyes. “I must,” she answered. He took her by the shoulders. “If you had hesitated,” he said, “I should have known it wasn’t the real thing. You are under orders, kid, and can’t help yourself. “You needn’t worry about me,” he said. “I’d have hated taking their confounded charity in any case. We must let the dad down as gently as possible. Leave it to me to break it to him. He must be used to disappointments, poor old buffer. Thank the Lord we haven’t got to worry about the mater. Tell her all that about Monk Anthony. She will love all that. Never mind the millionaire business and the House of Lords.” Lady Coomber was a curiously shy, gentlelady, somewhat of an enigma to those who did not know her history; they included her two children. Her name had been Edith Trent. She came of old Virginia stock. Harry Coomber, then a clerk in the British Embassy, had met her in Washington where she was living with friends, both her parents being dead. They had fallen in love with one another, and the marriage was within a day or two of taking place when the girl suddenly disappeared.