He hadn’t any illusion about it. He didn’t in the least expect that the old Emmy Maradick would suddenly disappear and never come out again. That, of course, was absurd, things didn’t happen so quickly. But now that he knew that the other one, the recent mysterious one that he had seen the shadow of ever so faintly, was there, everything would be different. And it would grow, it would grow, just as this new soul of his own was going to grow. Whilst he looked at her she awoke, looked at him for a moment without realisation, and then gave a little cry: “Oh! Is it late?” “No, dear, just eight. I’ll be back for breakfast at quarter to nine.” In her eyes was again that wondering pathetic little question. As an answer he bent down and kissed her tenderly. He had not kissed her like that for hundreds of years. As he bent down to her her hands suddenly closed furiously about him. For a moment she held him, then she let him go. As he left the room his heart was beating tumultuously. And so he went downstairs to face the music, as he told himself. He knocked on the Gales’ sitting-room door and some one said “Come in.” He drew a deep breath of relief when he saw that Lady Gale was in there alone. “Ah! that’s good!” She was sitting by the window with her head towards him. She seemed to him—it was partly the grey silk dress that she wore and partly her wonderful crown of white hair—unsubstantial, as though she might fade away out of the window at any moment. He had even a feeling that he ought to clutch at her, hold her, to prevent her from disappearing. Then he saw the dark lines under her eyes and her lack of colour; she was looking terribly tired. “Ah, I am ashamed; I ought to have told you last night.” She gave him her hand and smiled. “No, it’s all right; it’s probably better as it is. I won’t deny that I was anxious, of course, that was natural. But I was hoping that you would come in now, before my husband comes in. I nearly sent a note up to you to ask you to come down.” Her charming kindness to him moved him strangely. Oh! she was a wonderful person. “Dear Lady,” he said, “that’s like you. Not to be furious with me, I mean. But of course that’s what I’m here for now, to face things. I expect it and I deserve it; I was left for that.” “Left?” she said, looking at him. He saw that her hand moved ever so quickly across her lap and then back again. “Yes. Of course Tony’s gone. He was married yesterday afternoon at two o’clock at the little church out on the hill. The girl’s name is Janet Morelli. She is nineteen. They are now in Paris; but he gave me this letter for you.” He handed her the letter that Tony had given to him on the way up to the station. She did not say anything to him, but took the letter quickly and tore it open. She read it twice and then handed it to him and waited for him to read it. It ran:— Dearest and most wonderful of Mothers,