To-night, after leaving the Merriams, he walked along in the same self-reproaching temper. The March wind, coming keenly across the heath, blew a small drizzle into his face, causing him to pull up his coat collar and step out briskly. He swung his stick with an irritation which, however, had nothing to do with the weather. If only the past had been different--if only Irene had loved him instead of Gerard! He would have husbanded his life, instead of playing ducks and drakes with it as he was doing. What business had he along this road? Had he not better retrace his steps past the Merriams’ house and go to his own study fire and his imaginary brief? Suddenly he uttered an exclamation of impatience, drew himself up and called himself a fool. A familiar recklessness of mood gained gradual hold upon him. He laughed, gratified at the possession of a sense of humour that could look mockingly upon the portentous seriousness of this ridiculous world. He turned his thoughts to the cases he had in hand, went off at a tangent to the points he had made in an emotional address to the jury the day before. The success was sweet--sweeter because he was conscious that the secret of it lay within himself. He had the gift of eloquent speech--pathos, persuasion, invective. It had brought him suddenly, when his chance came, from the obscurest ranks of the junior bar, into public light. A pittance had leaped into a competence, which in its turn might rise to the dignity of an income. His temperament had done for him, a young and struggling man, what legal learning and acumen had not done for hundreds many years his senior. When he realised this, he felt grateful to his temperament, and granted it indulgence for the many scurvy tricks it had played him. Accordingly, he was fairly satisfied with himself when, after a quarter of an hour’s walk, he opened the garden gate of a large house standing in its own grounds. He walked up the drive humming an air. He rang, was admitted, conducted across a luxuriously carpeted hall, up a broad staircase, into the drawing-room. “Mr. Colman, miss.” The servant withdrew and shut the door. A girl rose from a low chair by the fire and advanced with quick steps to meet him. “Oh, how late you are--no, you couldn’t help it. You told me. But the evening has been so long--waiting for you.” “I got away as soon as I could. You see, I had promised. If your note had come yesterday, instead of this morning-----” “I only knew last night that father was going out of town. It seemed too good a chance of having you all to myself. Oh, I am so glad you’ve come. It was good of you.” “By no means,” he said, with a mock bow. “Don’t you think it’s a pleasure I’ve been looking forward to all day long?” “I don’t--if you express yourself in that sarcastic way,” she answered, reseating herself.