This had been sent from London some time in May. “Ancient history,” said Pauncefote, and broke the seal. _COLD’S BANK LIMITED._ _PALL MALL BRANCH._ _London, S.W._ _May 7th._ _Capt. O. Pauncefote,_ _Hôtel du Rhin,_ _Place Vendôme,_ _Paris._ _Private and Confidential._ _SIR,_ _A week ago you sent us a cheque on Plaisir et Cie for 6,600,000 francs, with instructions to clear at 66 or better and place upon deposit to your account._ _Two days ago the rumour that Plaisir et Cie were in difficulties reached me from a very secret but highly reliable source._ _I at once endeavoured to communicate with you, but found that you were in Paris._ _It was manifest that, if action was to be taken at all, it must be taken instantly, and, believing that, if I could have advised you, you would have told me to clear at any cost, I sold your cheque within the hour for ninety-two thousand pounds._ _Particularly in view of the fact that this is your first transaction with us, I need hardly say that I am greatly relieved to see from the evening papers that our disregard of your instructions was apparently justified._ _I am, Sir,_ _Your obedient servant,_ _E.S. NIELD,_ _Manager._ For a long time neither spoke. Presently Jean touched Oliver on the arm and pointed to the old grey house. “It’s for sale, isn’t it?” she faltered. Oliver nodded. He dared not trust his voice. “Shall we—— Would you like to live here?” Oliver’s arms were about her, and his cheek against hers. “Jean, my darling, my darling.” “I mean,” said Jean, with a little half-laugh, half-sob, “it seems—a pity—to leave—the Garden of Eden.” CHRISTOPHER CHRISTOPHER The engine of the great car hesitated, sighed and then rested from its labour. With a faint frown, its driver threw out the clutch and, using the slight gradient, coasted to the side of the road to berth her charge beneath the shadow of a convenient oak. Then she applied the hand-brake and opened her door. “My dear,” said Mrs. Trelawney, “tell me the worst. Have you done this on purpose? Or is it _force majeure_?” “I’m afraid it’s stopped on its own,” said Audrey de Lisle. “But don’t worry yet, Aunt Lettice. I——” “I shouldn’t think of worrying,” said Mrs. Trelawney. “I’m much too fat. Besides, the prospect of being able to say ‘I told you so’ is most agreeable. Finally, what a charming spot! I always think I should like to be buried beneath an elm, but I suppose the roots would get in the way.”