Poor Tom often thought of the children, and often tried not to. He knew very well where he was going and what his going there must mean to them. Yet he held on his way, obstinately assuring himself that the fault for which they must suffer was not his. "I do think of them, but---- It was past bearing, Grantley." "I think you must have given her a real fright by now. Perhaps she'll be more amenable." "Harriet amenable! Good Lord!" "Look here, if she can be got to express regret and hold out the olive branch, you know, will you drop all this, and give the thing one more trial?" It was a favourable moment for the request, since Tom happened to be cross with his pleasures too--they were so very expensive. He allowed himself to be persuaded to say yes. But who was to beard Lady Harriet in her den? There was no eagerness to undertake the task; yet everybody agreed that a personal interview was the only chance. Grantley fairly "funked it," and honestly said so. Raymore's nerves were still so upset that his excuses were accepted--it was morally certain that Harriet, if she became angry, would taunt him about his boy. Selford? That was absurd. And it was not a woman's work. The lot fell on John Fanshaw--John, with his business prestige and high reputation for common sense. And Lady Harriet liked him best of them all. The choice was felt to be excellent by everyone--except John himself. "Haven't I enough worries of my own?" he demanded. "Why the devil am I to take on Tom Courtland's too?" "Oh, do try! It can't hurt you if she does fly into a passion, John." He grumbled a great deal more; and Christine, in an unusually chastened mood, performed the wifely function of meeting his grumbles with mingled consolation and praise. "Well, I'll go on Sunday," he said at last, and added, with a look across the table: "Perhaps some of my own troubles will be off my mind by then." Christine flushed a little. "Oh, I hope so," she said rather forlornly. "I do hope so!" he declared emphatically. "I build great hopes on it. It is to-day you're going, isn't it?" "Yes, to-day. After lunch I said I'd come." "Did he write back cordially?" "Well, what could the poor man do, John?" "Ha, ha! Well, I suppose a fellow generally does answer cordially when a pretty woman proposes to call on him. Ha, ha!" John's hopes made him merry and jovial. "I say, I shall get back as early as I can from the City, and try to be here in time to welcome you. And if it's gone all right, why----" "Don't let yourself be too sure." "No, I won't. Oh, no, I won't do that!" But it was not hard to see how entirely he built all his trust on this last remaining chance. He rose from the breakfast-table. "All right. To-day's Thursday. I'll go to Lady Harriet on Sunday. Not much harm can happen in three days. Good-bye, old girl, and--and good luck!"