“Julia,” said Fulke earnestly, “I’ll do you a blinkin’ treat. I really will. You know me pretty well, and you know it isn’t my nature to want to see your money before I deliver the goods. I’m only doing it now in self-defence. If you’d been stung like me, you’d be doing it too. Once I’ve got you I’ll never bargain again.” “Would you be kind to me, George?” In a trembling voice George protested that he would be insanely kind. “Very well,” said Julia, returning the ‘orders to view.’ “I accept your terms. Find the ring, and a month after my engagement to Hubert’s been officially cancelled——” “Oh, you darling!” said Fulke rapturously. “Hush,” said Julia. “You’re not there yet, you know. Listen. There’s a house with no end of stairs in Prince’s Gardens. I think I should try that first. But between the others there’s really nothing to choose.” “Good,” said Fulke enthusiastically. That Julia was as wise as she was pretty is a true saying. But, what is more to the point, she was wiser than Fulke. George made an admirable swain. As a husband, he would have been a complete failure. This was generally recognized. Mrs. Pardoner had seen it, and so had Mrs. Herrick. Miss Willow was no whit less shrewd. Besides . . . When, therefore, she accepted his terms, she knew what he did not suspect—that of his innocence he had left her a loophole of dimensions so ample that it was resembling a grand entrance. In a word, while she very much wanted her ring—it being a beautiful gaud and of great value—she had not the slightest intention of becoming disengaged. That Fulke’s cake, then, was dough is perfectly plain. Secured by this comfortable reflection, Miss Willow was in very good cue. The bargain struck, George had recaptured his former excellence and had made very seasonable love. She held great expectation of his finding the ring, and was more than thankful to be spared the grisly ordeal of revisiting her haunts of Saturday upon such a delicate quest. As for Hubert, her peace must be made with honour: but that, she decided, should not be difficult. Indeed, by the time she had parted with George and was once more at home she had become quite hopeful that Hubert would make the first move. The sight of a note addressed in his well-known hand set the seal upon her content. She opened it with a faint smile. _MY DEAR JULIA,_ _I’m afraid I didn’t play the game yesterday evening._ _What does the rotten ring matter? It’s served its turn. If it doesn’t turn up, let it lie. If it does, keep it ‘with my love.’ Any old way I’ve written to_ The Times, _telling them to insert the usual notice. You know. ‘The marriage arranged, etc., will not take place.’_ _Yours,_ _HUBERT._ After one frightful moment, Julia fell upon the telephone. Two minutes later she was curtly informed that Captain Challenger was out of town.