It was the next evening at dinner time that around the table Darrell began to tell of an expedition into West Africa which he had heard talked of at the club. It would be partly private and partly governmental, and would require more than a year’s absence from England. Pelham’s grave eyes lighted up as the story went on. He had an indestructible love of bold adventure, and he had no more been able to indulge his fondness and taste than he had been able to indulge his fondness for intelligent travel. Elizabeth, with prophetic intuition, saw that the idea had taken hold of Pelham’s imagination. She felt assured that if she were to make the same appeal that she had done unconsciously in the garden that night at Embira, Pelham would not resist it, and would remain in England with her; but she was of too generous a nature to wish to hold him back from what would be an advantage as well as a strong man’s delight to him. She was not surprised, therefore, when Pelham turned up next day, to hear that he had been to the War Office and had been looking into the West African expedition. Pelham spent a fortnight making inquiries, and then one night, as he and Darrell, with Elizabeth sitting by them, sat over their cigars on the balcony of the morning–room, he told the story of what he had heard of the expedition. The command of the expedition had practically been offered him, and it was a tremendous opportunity and one not likely to occur again to a man of his age, for his fortieth birthday was upon him. It would mean much to him in the way of his profession, upon which he was entirely dependent,—that is, unless Darrell should die without an heir. Its opportunities in every way were such, and the offer made him so flattering, that it was out of the question that he should decline them unless there were some specific reason. Darrell told him so. There were steps from the balcony leading down into a little lawn with a bench at the farther end. Elizabeth quietly rose and, walking down the steps, passed to the farther end of the gravelled path and back again. It was a June night, warm for London, but cool compared with that other sultry night when the question had first been raised of Pelham’s departure from her for a long time. After a while Pelham rose and said to Darrell, “I will go and ask Elizabeth what she thinks of it.” “Do,” said Darrell. “I bet you five to one she will tell you, just as I have done, that it is the greatest chance you ever had in your life.” Pelham followed Elizabeth down the gravelled path to the little iron bench under an odorous hedge of rose trees, where she sat. There was no moon, but the starlight made a softened radiance around them. He sat down by her and said in his usual quiet voice and laconic manner, “Elizabeth, what do you think of my accepting the West African offer?” “I think you ought to accept it,” replied Elizabeth, in a soft voice.