One evening, about a week after what Mr. Espion called the final _esclandre_, Tommy Myles made his appearance in the smoking-room of the Themis. More important matters have ousted the record of Tommy's marriage and blissful honeymoon, and he came back to find that a negligent world had hardly noticed his absence. "How are you?" said he to Sidmouth Vane. "How are you?" said Vane, raising his eyes for a moment from _Punch_. Tommy sat down by him. "I say," he remarked, "this Neston business is rather neat. We read about it in Switzerland." "Been away?" "Of course I have--after my wedding, you know." "Ah! Seen _Punch_?" And Vane handed it to him. "I had a pretty shrewd idea of how the land lay. So had Bella." "Bella?" "Why, my wife." "Oh, a thousand pardons. I thought you rather backed Mrs. Witt." "My dear fellow, we wanted her to have fair play. I suppose there's no question of the marriage now?" "I suppose not." "What's the fair Mrs. Witt going to do?" Vane wanted to be let alone, and Tommy worried him. He turned on the little gentleman with some ferocity. "My dear Tommy," he said, "you backed her through thick and thin, and blackguarded George for attacking her." "Yes, but----" "Well, whoever was right, you weren't, so hadn't you better say no more about it?" And Mr. Vane rose and walked away. In fact, he was thoughtful. What would Mrs. Witt do next? And what would George Neston do? Vane knew of cases where the accusation suggests the crime; it seemed not unlikely that if George had to bear the contumely attaching to a connection with Mrs. Witt, he might think it as well to reap the benefit. He might not have sought to win her favour yet, but it was very possible he might do so now. If he didn't--well, some one would. And Mr. Vane considered that he might find it worth his while to be the man. His great relatives would cry aloud in horror; society would be shocked. But a man will endure something for a pretty woman and five thousand a year. Only, what did George Neston mean to do? It will be seen that Sidmouth Vane did not share Laura Pocklington's conviction that George cared nothing for Mrs. Witt. Of course he had not Laura's reasons: and perhaps some difference between the masculine and feminine ways of looking at such things must be allowed for. As it happened, however, Vane was right--for a moment. After George had been for a second time repulsed from Mrs. Pocklington's doors, finding the support of his friends unsatisfying and yearning for the more impassioned approval that women give, he went the next day to Neaera's, and intruded on the sorrow-laden retirement to which that wronged lady had betaken herself. And Neaera's grief and gratitude, her sorrow and sympathy, her friendship and fury, were all alike and equally delightful to him. "The meanness of it!" she cried with flashing eyes. "Oh, I would rather die than have a petty soul like that!"