For a moment doubt of his cherished theory began to assail his mind. He heard the old lady call Ashforth "John;" that was a little strange, and it was rather strange that John answered by saying: "That must be as you wish; I am entirely at your disposal." And yet, reflected Laing, was it very strange, after all? In his own family they had an old retainer who called all the children, whatever their age, by their Christian names, and was admitted to a degree of intimacy hardly distinguishable from that accorded to a relative. Laing, weighing the evidence pro and contra, decided that there was an overwhelming balance in favor of his old view, and dismissed the matter with the comment that, if it ever befell him to go on a wedding-tour, he would ask his wife to take a maid with rather less claims on her kindness and his toleration. That same morning the second pair of telegrams, forwarded by post from Cannes, duly arrived. Dora and Charlie, reading them in the light of their recent happy information, found them most kind and comforting, although in reality they, apart from their missing forerunners, told the recipients nothing at all. John's ran: "Am in Paris at European. Please write. Anxious to hear. Everything decided for the best.--John." Mary's to Charlie was even briefer; it said, "Am here at European. Why no answer to last?" "It's really very kind of Mr. Ashforth," said Dora to Charlie, as they strolled in the garden of the Tuileries, "to make such a point of what I think. I expect the wire that stupid Mr. Laing lost was just to tell me the date of the marriage." "Not a doubt of it. Miss Tr--Mrs. Ashforth's wire to me makes that clear. They want to hear that we're not desperately unhappy. Well, we aren't, are we, Dolly?" "Well, perhaps not." "Isn't it extraordinary how we mistook our feelings? Of course, though, it's natural in you. You had never been through anything of the sort before. How could you tell whether it was the real thing or not?" Dora shot a glance out of the corner of her eye at her lover, but did not disclaim the innocence he imputed to her; she knew men liked to think that, and why shouldn't they, poor things? She seized on his implied admission and carried the war into his country. "But you,--you who are so experienced--how did you come to make such a mistake?" Charlie was not at a loss. "It wasn't a mistake _then_," he said. "I was quite right then. Mary Travers was about the nicest girl I had ever seen. I thought her as charming as a girl could be." "Oh, you did! Then why----" "My eyes have been opened since then." "What did that?" "Why don't you ever pronounce my name?" "Never mind your name. What opened your eyes?" "Why, yours, of course." "What nonsense! They're very nice about it, aren't they? Do you think we ought to call?" "Shall you feel it awkward?" "Yes, a little. Shan't you? Still we must let them know we're here. Will you write to Mrs. Ashforth?"