“I have only just read the terrible news that you are being married to-morrow. Won’t you see me once, just once, for the sake of the happy day long ago? I must see you before you are married. I must take farewell of you in person. Believe me, I will never trouble you again. You used to praise my pretty face; won’t you see it again for the last time? If you will, put an ‘agony’ advertisement in _The Times_, and I will meet you at the Albert Gate, Regents Park, at nine o’clock to-morrow night.” “That’s to-night,” explained the young man. “Who is she?” asked the girl curiously. “The Lord knows!” said Mr. Claythorpe with a cheerful smirk; “of course, dear old thing, I’ll have to see her. I put the advertisement in. You’re sure you don’t mind?” She shook her head. “I haven’t told the governor,” said the young man, “and I want you to keep it dark. You see he’s a bit old-fashioned in things like that, and he hasn’t got your broad outlook, Joyce. And for heaven’s sake, don’t breathe a word to Father Maggerley; you know what a stick he is!” “Father Maggerley,” repeated the girl, “oh, yes, we’re lunching with him, aren’t we?” “Personally,” the young man babbled on, “I think it’s a little indecent for a bride and bridegroom to lunch with the fellow who’s going to tie them up. But the governor’s frightfully keen on Maggerley. He’s even dining with us to-night, as well. I hope he doesn’t give me any good advice, or I shall have a few words to say to him.” He braced his lean shoulders with a determined air, and again the girl had to suppress a smile. She went up to her room soon after, and did not appear until the car had arrived at the door to carry them to Ciro’s. Father Maggerley, who was the fifth member of the party, was a tall aesthetic man, reputed to be very “high church,” and suspected of leanings towards the papacy. It was not remarkable that the conversation turned upon Four Square Jane. It was a subject in which Lord Claythorpe was tremendously interested, and as he listened to Mrs. Wilberforce’s theories, his lined yellow face betrayed signs of unusual alertness. “The police will have her sooner or later,” he said viciously, “you can be sure of that.” Francis was bubbling over with good humour. The girl had interrupted him in the morning at the point when he was telling her news, which was no news at all, since he had imparted the information, not once but a dozen times in the course of the past week, that he carried in his pocket the wedding ring which was to unite them. He took it out and showed it to her, a thin circle of shining platinum, but Joyce was not enthusiastic over its beauties, and after a long exposition of his own good taste in jewellery, Francis rambled on to another and equally uninteresting subject.