The most she could get out of him was a promise to wait and say nothing till there was more than mere servants'-hall gossip to go by. He left her wearied and vexed, sorry that she had not been able to get him to hear reason, yet knowing that she was sure of her own ground, since, if she and Duke both refused to acknowledge marriage there could be no possible claim by anyone else. Only to take up this ground would, she foresaw, make Andrew into an enemy. Besides, it would be a confession of failure on her part, and the years had brought so much success to her in all her managements that the idea of defeat, even in a small thing, was irksome. So for a day or two more she sat and worked while all the noise of London was deadened by the snow which defied man's effort to remove. In her quiet little street she felt as if she were wrapped away in a white winding sheet from all the interests of the world--waiting, waiting, waiting. It would come at last, of course. The _Court Journal_ would have the announcement of an impending marriage in high life. Then, if Andrew were still inflexible, she must tell him he had no power. And then--and then--and then? Her mind busied itself in plans, in conjectures, more from habit than from any hope of action; for in her heart of hearts she knew, and she was always telling herself, that she had said good-bye to Duke for ever. Yet, as has been said, Fate had willed otherwise. Less than a week after Andrew's visit, she stood up, her heart beating, at a well-known step coming up two stairs at a time, and there was Duke! A Duke such as she had always dreamt he should be--radiant, rejoicing--a perfect specimen of manly beauty. He was in the full-dress uniform of his Highland regiment, and he flung his bonnet in among the laces and muslins, as if the whole world were his. "We're off to Constantinople to-morrow," he said joyously, "and I had to come and say good-bye. Oh, my dear, my dear, what a relief it is--every way!" She gasped. "But war--war hasn't been declared yet!" "And won't be for another two months," he interrupted, "but for all that we are sending our troops. It's kept secret, of course, but my regiment is in it. It seems too good to be true!" "And--and Lady Amabel?" asked Marrion, a grip at her heart. He laughed joyously. "No harm done. You see the War Office told me when I got the colonelcy this was up, and it wouldn't have been fair. So we were very good friends. She is a dear little girl, and if I come home--but that's to be seen. Now, ah, how glad I am to be free!" The words cut deep, spoiling the relief at Marrion's heart; but, after all, why should he not be glad? He was going to do a man's work. "I'm glad you have the colonelcy," she said soberly; it was the only consolation she could find for herself.