Even Gillie was moved. "There, there!" he exclaimed. "Nothing to cry about--'Nuff said,' Laura. Perhaps we'll meet again sooner than you think, my friends the Americans say." And she tried to smile. Then Gillie turned to Mrs. Tropenell, speaking with much greater sincerity of feeling than he was wont to do. "I'll never forget your kindness--in the past and in the present--to my sister and to me, Mrs. Tropenell. I'm not such a careless brute as I seem to be--I never forget a kindness--or an injury. Now then, Oliver!" Laura felt her hand seized, closed on in a vice-like pressure which hurt, then dropped. "Good-bye, Laura," said Oliver in an almost inaudible tone. "Good-bye, till we meet again." CHAPTER XII As so often happens after hours or days of crises, and even of quarrel, things went better for a while after Laura's return to The Chase. True, life was now, even more than before, dull, sad, and difficult. She missed Oliver Tropenell's constant companionship and stimulating talk, more than she was willing to acknowledge even to her innermost self. And yet, when Godfrey spoke of the other man's absence from Freshley with regret, his words jarred on her, and made her feel vaguely ashamed. Yet surely, surely she had nothing to reproach herself with in the matter of Oliver Tropenell? She would so gladly have kept him as Godfrey's friend as well as her own. They had made it up, those two ill-matched people--made it up, that is, after a fashion. They were now much where they had been six months ago, just before Oliver Tropenell with his strong, masterful personality had come into their joint lives. And Godfrey? Godfrey Pavely was happier, more complacent than usual, during those late autumn days. He also was ashamed--though not unreasonably so--of the absurd importance he had attached to those two vulgar anonymous letters! He was sorry now that he had spoken of the matter to Oliver Tropenell, for that odd, rather awkward talk of theirs on the matter had been perhaps a contributory cause of the other man's sudden departure. If Oliver came home for Christmas, he, Godfrey, would "make it all right." The banker had yet another reason for feeling life pleasanter than usual just now. He was engaged in a rather big bit of financial business of a kind his soul loved, for it was secret, immediately profitable, and with a gambling risk attached to it. The only person to whom he had said a word concerning the affair was Katty Winslow, and even to her, for he was a very prudent man, he had been quite vague.