At a dinner-party that night a woman whom she hated, and wrote down an evil-minded scandal-monger and inventor and disseminator of lies, suddenly said to her, "Who _is_ this Mrs. Harris, my dear?" "How should I know?" replied Mrs. Dearman. "Oh, I thought your young friend Mr. Grobble might have told you--he seems to know her very well," answered the woman sweetly. That night Mr. Dearman heard his wife sobbing in bed. Going to her he asked what was the matter, and produced eau-de-Cologne, phenacetin, smelling-salts and sympathy. She said that nothing at all was the matter and he went away and pondered. Next day he asked her if he could row her on the river as he wanted some exercise, and Augustus was not available to take her for a drive or anything. "I should love it, John dear," she said. "You row like an ox," and John, who had been reckoned an uncommon useful stroke, felt that a compliment was intended if not quite materialized. Mrs. Pat Dearman enjoyed the upstream trip, and, watching her husband drive the heavy boat against wind and current with graceful ease, contrasted him with the puny, if charming, Augustus--to the latter's detriment. He was so safe, so sound, so strong, reliable and true. But then he never needed any protection, care and help. It was impossible to "mother" John. He loved her devotedly and beautifully but one couldn't pretend he leaned on her for moral help. Now Augustus did need her or he had done so--and she did so love to be needed. _Had_ done so? No--she would put the thought away. He needed her as much as ever and loved her as devotedly and honourably.... The boat was turned back at the weir and, half an hour later, reached the Club wharf. "I want to go straight home without changing, Pat; do you mind? I'll drop you at the Gymkhana if you don't want to get home so early," said Dearman, as he helped his wife out. "Won't you change and have a drink first, John?" she replied. "You must be thirsty." "No. I want to go along now, if you don't mind." He did want to--badly. For, rowing up, he had seen something which his wife, facing the other way, could not see. Under an over-hanging bush was a punt, and in the punt were Augustus and the lady known as Mrs. Harris. The bush met the bank at the side toward his wife, but at the other side, facing Dearman, there was an open space and so he had seen and she had not. Returning, he had drawn her attention to something on the opposite bank. This had been unnecessary, however, as Augustus had effected a change of venue without delay. And now he did not want his wife to witness the return of the couple and learn of the duplicity of her snatched Brand. (He'd "brand" him anon!) * * * * * Augustus Clarence Percy Marmaduke Grobble sat in the long cane chair in his sitting-room, a glass beside him, a cigarette between his lips, a fleshly poet in his hand, and a reminiscent smile upon his flushed face.