"Nothing that one ever says about ordinary mortals applies to Mr. Delafield. He is, of course, _hors concours_." "Julie!" "It is you, Evelyn, who make me _méchante_. I could be grateful--and excellent friends with that young man--in my own way." The Duchess sighed, and held her tongue with difficulty. * * * * * When the successful hero arrived that night for dinner he found a solitary lady in the drawing-room. Was this, indeed, Julie Le Breton--this soft, smiling vision in white? He expected to have found a martyr, pale and wan from the shock of the catastrophe which had befallen her, and, even amid the intoxication of his own great day, he was not easy as to how she might have taken his behavior on the fatal night. But here was some one, all joy, animation, and indulgence--a glorified Julie who trod on air. Why? Because good-fortune had befallen her friend? His heart smote him. He had never seen her so touching, so charming. Since the incubus of Lady Henry's house and presence had been removed she seemed to have grown years younger. A white muslin dress of her youth, touched here and there by the Duchess's maid, replaced the familiar black satin. When Warkworth first saw her he paused unconsciously in surprise. Then he advanced to meet her, broadly smiling, his blue eyes dancing. "You got my note this morning?" "Yes," she said, demurely. "You were much too kind, and much--much too absurd. I have done nothing." "Oh, nothing, of course." Then, after a moment: "Are you going to tie me to that fiction, or am I to be allowed a little decent sincerity? You know perfectly well that you have done it all. There, there; give me your hand." She gave it, shrinking, and he kissed it joyously. "Isn't it jolly!" he said, with a school-boy's delight as he released her hand. "I saw Lord M---- this morning." He named the Prime Minister. "Very civil, indeed. Then the Commander-in-Chief--and Montresor gave me half an hour. It is all right. They are giving me a capital staff. Excellent fellows, all of them. Oh, you'll see, I shall pull it through--I shall pull it through. By George! it is a chance!" And he stood radiant, rubbing his hands over the blaze. The Duchess came in accompanied by an elderly cousin of the Duke's, a white-haired, black-gowned spinster, Miss Emily Lawrence--one of those single women, travelled, cultivated, and good, that England produces in such abundance. "Well, so you're going," said the Duchess, to Warkworth. "And I hear that we ought to think you a lucky man." "Indeed you ought, and you must," he said, gayly. "If only the climate will behave itself. The blackwater fever has a way of killing you in twenty-four hours if it gets hold of you; but short of that--" "Oh, you will be quite safe," said the Duchess. "Let me introduce you to Miss Lawrence. Emily, this is Captain Warkworth."