To celebrate the event, also because he thought Yootha would like it, Preston had this year rented a houseboat which he kept moored near Maidenhead. Several times before they were engaged Yootha had spent a day with him on this boat, though he had not even then made up his mind to propose to her. But now the boat was moored at Henley, for the regatta week, and he had asked a few of his friends to come and lunch on board any day they felt inclined to. It was his intention then to announce his engagement, and to present them to his future wife. None of his friends, however, put in an appearance. Some telegraphed their inability at the last moment to get out of town; others stayed away without sending an excuse. Preston was surprised. “Curious,” he said thoughtfully, as he shook the ashes out of his pipe about lunch time on the second day of the regatta. “I thought some of them would turn up to-day. Cooper and Atherton are down here, I know, because I saw them in a punt together half an hour ago.” Yootha, lying back near him in a deck chair, partly concealed by the overhead awning, did not reply. “You seem silent to-day, my darling,” he said after a pause. “Is anything the matter?” He bent down as he stopped speaking, and peered under the awning. The troubled look in her eyes disconcerted him. “Darling, what is it?” he asked anxiously. “Is something worrying you?” “Not worrying me, exactly,” she answered, with rather a wan smile, “only----” “Yes? Only what?” “I think I can guess why your friends have stayed away. It isn’t hard to guess.” “Isn’t it? Well, I wish I knew the reason--ah----” His expression had suddenly changed. “So now you know,” she went on. “Personally I am not surprised. You know how people have cold-shouldered me since that dreadful affair at the ball. Now it has become known we are engaged, people want less than ever to meet me. Had you been here alone, your friends would probably all have come to lunch.” “‘Friends,’ you call them?” Preston exclaimed with a black look. “They are no longer friends of mine, I can assure you, if they are that sort.” “Oh, I don’t blame them,” Yootha answered with a hard smile. “One has to pay the penalty of notoriety, even though the notoriety may have come unsought. I dare say I shall live it down,” and she gave a little shrug. A tiny boat was sailing past, and the young man seated in the stern of it hailed Preston. “Can I come aboard a moment?” he called out. “I want to speak to you.” “Come along,” Preston answered, though without enthusiasm, for the young man was Archie La Planta. Half a minute later the little boat was alongside. “I hope I am not intruding,” La Planta said, discovering suddenly, or pretending to discover, that nobody else besides Yootha was aboard. “I heard you had a luncheon party. By the way,” he added, “have I to congratulate you? I heard the news only to-day.”