“Did you notice what magnificent diamonds Mrs. Neville Williams wore last night?” said Celia to her brother the following morning. “Mrs. Haviland says they belong to the Wallingcourt family, and that there has been some amount of litigation about them. Fancy her wearing jewels that are not her own!” Herbert Karne made no remark, for to discuss Mrs. Neville Williams with his sister was impossible under existing circumstances. Celia had called for him at his hotel; and was engaged in looking over a pile of newspaper cuttings concerning the performance of the previous night. Opinion was divided as to the merits of the play; but the critics were unanimous in their praise of the acting of _Mallida_. “I feel frightfully flat this morning,” she continued, stifling a yawn. “It is the reaction from last night, I suppose. I think a walk would do me good. Will you come for a stroll over the heath, Herbert? Mr. Haviland wants me at the theatre at two o’clock, but I am free until then.” Herbert rose from the table and looked out of the window. “It is not a very nice day for the heath,” he replied. “It seems inclined to be foggy. Besides, I have an appointment in Kensington at twelve.” “A business appointment?” she asked with interest. “No, a private appointment,” he answered briefly, apparently disinclined to be communicative. Then with a gesture of weariness he passed his hand across his forehead and sighed. Celia tossed the papers aside, and regarded him with solicitude. There was a furrow on his brow which hitherto she had not noticed, and his eyes had deep lines under the lids. He seemed thoroughly dispirited, though for what reason she did not know. “I wish you would tell me what is the matter, Herbert,” she said gently. “You are not your own bright self at all. I noticed it directly you arrived on Tuesday. Is anything troubling you, dear?” He sighed again--for the sixteenth time according to his sister’s calculation--then confessed to being “a bit worried,” but would not divulge what was the source of his trouble. “Won’t you tell me what it is?” she urged. “Perhaps I could help you if I knew.” He shook his head. “It’s a trouble for which there is no help,” he replied; and all her coaxing could elicit no more. When he parted from her an hour later, he hailed a hansom and drove to Kensington, where he found the neighbourhood enveloped in fog. The cabman, unable to see his way clearly, had some difficulty in finding Cromwell Mansions; but after making a circuit of the whole district, eventually arrived at the destination he sought. With a nervousness quite foreign to his disposition, Herbert paid the man and rang for the elevator. He had not chafed at the delay; quite the contrary, even though the fog were more or less unpleasant. He was going to see his wife, but what the result of that interview would be, he had not the slightest idea: his mind seemed a positive blank.