Nigel had to listen to a new and profuse statement of all the details, wound up by a graphic description of his questions put to Fulvia, and of her emphatic denial. "Said plainly enough she hadn't received yours—hadn't received any postscript at all, in fact. What do you think?" "It settles the matter, of course, once for all." Nigel spoke with a touch of impatience, for he was tired of the subject. "Unsettles the matter, you mean. Why, now, I have told you a dozen times at least—" "Quite true," thought Nigel, with an inward groan. "That there were four envelopes and four postscripts, and that I put one postscript into each envelope. Now, under those circumstances, how could Fulvia have failed to get one?" "She evidently did fail." "But I say, my dear fellow, she could not!" "You meant to put in the four. Whether you did so is another question. I suppose we all make mistakes sometimes. And Fulvia's word—" "A lady's word! Pshaw!" Nigel was coldly silent. "I don't suppose the girl means to deceive. She has blundered somehow. But as for my not putting in that postscript—! Of course it may have dropped out,—been stolen, or lost, or burnt, or—" "It seems to me a very insignificant matter." "Insignificant!" Mr. Carden-Cox was scandalised. His correspondence to be counted "insignificant"! He could scarcely believe his own ears. "Oh, very well; if the thing isn't of sufficient importance to claim your attention, I have no more to say. I should have thought—but it doesn't signify. You young fellows think such an amount of yourselves; nothing else is worth a glance. I should have thought that the question of my truthfulness being impugned was of some weight even in your eyes; but no, that is quite insignificant. Fulvia is to be believed, of course; and I—I may look to myself." Then a twinkle broke into the anger. "Well, well,—after all, any amount of infatuation is allowed to young lovers. I ought not to be surprised. All perfectly natural, just as it should be. Fulvia is a good girl—wonderfully good to everybody; wouldn't say what wasn't true. Dare say you are right enough there. Shouldn't wonder if she burnt the paper, unknowingly. Women are capable of anything. Most inscrutable creatures!" Nigel would not risk further discussion by further opposition. He knew well that nothing he could say would alter Mr. Carden-Cox's determined linking of his name with Fulvia's; and presently he managed to escape, feeling that the lawyer peril was deferred for a time. Why peril should exist in connection with a lawyer, Nigel was only able to conjecture. Once more he was buffeting the wind, which had risen much. No use to open an umbrella; he could not have held it up. He pulled his cap low, bent his head, and fought his way steadily through the gale. Yet he did not turn homeward. A thirst had come over him for another glimpse of Ethel. She would surely be at home after dark, this stormy afternoon, and he turned his steps towards Church Square.