Simon did not ask Estelle to become his wife. Had she asked him, he would, I believe, have consented to become her husband. But then, somehow, the doctrine of _caveat emptor_ would have applied. It would have been her look-out. Whereas, if he approached her, his very approach would suggest a regard which he did not feel. Besides . . . A month limped by. Patricia and Simon were meeting continually—by chance. From their easy, casual fellowship no one would ever have dreamed that they were in love. But then no one ever had suspected anything. They were just carrying on—with hearts of lead. Presently the date of Miss Bohun’s wedding was announced and invitations were issued. Then two things happened—simultaneously. The first was that Castle Breathless was entered by burglars while the household was at meat. The burglars, however, were disturbed and made good their escape. A footman was knocked down and a maid-servant frightened to death. Apparently Miss Bohun’s bedroom was the only room which had been entered. There a drawer had been forced and a gold bag taken. Curiously enough, the thieves overlooked what they were undoubtedly seeking. This was a magnificent rope of pearls, ‘the gift of the bridegroom,’ which was lying where Miss Bohun had left it upon a bureau. The second was that Simon in some excitement began to do sums. For the sake of brevity, let us look over his shoulder. _Unearned Income_ £300 _a year_ _Earned_ ” £250 ” _Grey Ruby_ £450 ” ———— _Total_ £1000 _a year_ You see, now, what was in the man’s mind. That morning had brought him a cheque for seven pounds and a request to be shown the next tale that he wrote. Simon reckoned that he could write three tales a month. So much for _Earned Income_. Simon had just been left three hundred pounds. The money lay at the Bank. If he put it all on Grey Ruby at thirty-three to one and Patricia’s dream came true, Simon would win nine thousand nine hundred pounds. So much for _Grey Ruby_. As for the total, the man shall speak for himself. “A thousand a year. It isn’t too much, but supposing we lived abroad. Say, Paris. I think she could stick it all right. I think she’d be happy. I believe, in a way, she’d find it rather fun. Of course she’d miss all the show—flunkeys and cars and the rest. We might run to a Citroën. And she could have half a maid. Clothes’d be the snag. We couldn’t put up a fight where clothes were concerned. But if she could rule them out—I don’t think she really cares about anything else. The idea of Life without luxury’s never entered her head. It doesn’t follow that if it did she’d fire it out. I don’t think she would. I don’t think Patricia’s that sort. If it weren’t for the clothes question . . .” Simon rose to his feet and fell to pacing the room.