“It was I that proposed,” said Mr. Carteret, “but the beneficiary is apparently Barclay.” “It is,” said Barclay. All Lady Withers could do was to gasp hysterically, “How very American!” “Not at all,” said Mr. Carteret. “The vicarious proposal is essentially European. I think,” he added, “all that remains for you to do is to confer your blessing.” As Lady Withers gazed at her niece she saw in those gray Granvil eyes the magical light that is so sad to those that are without it, and she saw in her face the loveliness and other consequences of being sweet. The ghosts of what she herself might have had and what she herself might have been thronged back to her. Her hard, world-scarred heart trembled; tears stood in her eyes, and without speaking and without a single false beam or sparkle she took the girl to her breast and kissed her. Mr. Carteret turned away and followed the Major and Tappingwell-Sikes. There was something in his throat that he felt would make it difficult for him to contribute anything illuminating to the situation. MR. CARTERET’S ADVENTURE WITH A LOCKET III MR. CARTERET’S ADVENTURE WITH A LOCKET Mrs. Ascott-Smith knew that Mr. Carteret had been attentive to Miss Rivers, but she had never known how attentive. She never suspected that the affair had reached the point of an engagement, subsequently broken by Miss Rivers. If she had known the facts, she would not have invited Mr. Carteret to Chilliecote Abbey when Miss Rivers and Captain Wynford were there. Yet the presence of Miss Rivers and Wynford was not the reason that Mr. Carteret gave himself for declining the invitation. He did not dread meeting Miss Rivers; she was nothing to him but a mistake and an old friend. Whether she married Wynford or some other man, it was the same to him. The affair was over. He even had it in mind to get married before very long, if only to prove it. He was in such a mood as he walked down the passage to the smoking-room with Mrs. Ascott-Smith’s note crumpled in his hand. His eyes looked straight before him and saw nothing. Behind him there followed the soft, whispering tread of cushioned feet, and that he did not hear. Perhaps it was not because he was absorbed that he did not hear it, for it was always following him, and he had ceased to note it, as one ceases to note the clock ticking. But as he sat down, he felt the touch of a cold nose on his hand and one little lick. He glanced down, and looked into the sad, wistful eyes of the wire-haired fox terrier. With this, Penwiper dropped gravely upon the floor, gazing up adoring and mournful, yet content. Mr. Carteret was used to this idolatry, as he was used to the patter of the following footsteps, but on this occasion it provoked speculation. It occurred to him to wonder how in a just universe a devotion like Penwiper’s would be repaid. Then he wondered if, after all, it was a just universe. If so, why should Penwiper have that look chronically in his eyes?