As he looked round the various groups at picnics and tennis parties--he now and then went for an hour--he saw no one who approached Madeline in any way--face, figure, grace, or gait--especially Madeline as he had last seen her--in her very fine feathers. Doubtless any of these girls would have made a more manageable wife, he thought to himself bitterly. Yes! she had now taken the bit completely within her teeth, and he was powerless to control her. She went and came and stayed away when she pleased, and for precisely as long as it suited her. Her desertion--it was that--was all in pursuit of his interests--his and the child’s. What a fool she must think him! She had evidently resolved to play the _rôle_ of daughter first, wife next, and mother very much the last of all! Her neglect of him he could tolerate, but her neglect of her child made him excessively angry. She had wholly consigned it to Mrs. Holt, and lightly shaken off all a mother’s duties. She a mother! She did not look the part as she chattered fashionable gossip to those idiotic young men on Euston platform, and never cast a thought to the infant she was turning her back on in a certain country farmhouse. She had been away nearly four months, and she had written--oh yes, pretty frequently, but the tone of her letters was a little forced, their gaiety was not natural--perhaps the tone of his own epistles was somewhat curt. The relations between Mr. and Mrs. Wynne were becoming strained--a crisis was impending. * * * * * Among the departures from Kingstown on a certain date were Mr. and Miss West and suite, who duly arrived at Belgrave Square, and found London filling fast. Their arrival, however, was somewhat unexpected--the housekeeper had barely time to despatch her sister’s family back to Manchester, and the poor woman was compelled to put off an evening party for which she had issued invitations among her own set. Mr. West had a great deal of business to transact, and spent most of his days in the city--and this was Madeline’s opportunity. She lost no time in paying a visit to the Inner Temple, arriving on foot, plainly dressed, and wearing a thick veil. She was a good deal bewildered by the old courts and passages, but at last discovered Mr. Wynne’s chambers. Here she was received by an elderly, bare-armed, irascible-looking woman--with a palpable beard--who, after looking her over leisurely from head to foot, told her to “Go up to the second flight front. She could tell nothing of Mr. Wynne; he was in and out all day, like a dog in a fair.”