For no apparent reason he laughed bitterly. His companion shuddered. "Don't laugh like that, Major Lyveden. It's bad for my heart. Oh, dear. How fast George is driving! We shall be at Bell Hammer before we know where we are." Suddenly she leaned forward and caught at the footman's sleeve. "Anthony Lyveden, I've shown you my hand. As you love my niece, what is the trouble?" Anthony set his teeth. "Can't be done," he said, "Lady Touchstone. We've got to work it out for ourselves." "Curse your pride," said that lady. "There. Now I've sworn at you. But it's your own fault. And how are you two goats going to work it out for yourselves? With one of you bleating at Nice, and the other--Heaven knows where--in England? D'you go to church, Anthony Lyveden?" "I used to." "Then go again. Get to your knees and pray. Pray to be delivered from blindness of heart, Anthony Lyveden. D'you hear? Blindness of heart. From pride, vainglory and hypocrisy. Not that you're hypocritical, but they go together, and it'll do no harm. And I shall make Valerie go, and--and I shall pray for you both." Anthony slid off his hat and put her hand to his lips.... As he did so, the car sped past a red lodge and into a curling drive. Lady Touchstone sought for a pocket-handkerchief. "There's a tear on my nose," she explained. "I can feel it. It's a real compliment, Anthony Lyveden. You're the very first man that's ever made Harriet Touchstone cry." The car swept to the steps. Anthony was down in a flash. Tenderly he handed her out.... By the time her aunt had alighted, Valerie was at the top of the steps. Anthony walked up to her steadily. Then he took off his hat. "I humbly apologize," he said. "It was unpardonable." "You're right," said Valerie quietly. "That's just what it was." As she spoke, a servant opened the door. Valerie turned on her heel and walked into the house. That same evening, when the others had gone to bed, Anthony called his terrier and set him upon his knee.