"Good," said Gideon Rolfe; then he paused, and frowned sternly. "I am sorry for the young man." Stephen smiled, and waved his hand. "A mere fancy," he said, lightly. "My dear Jack is apt to take these matters as very serious, but he generally manages to get over them. And now what will you take to drink, Mr. Rolfe?" Gideon Rolfe waved his hand and put on his hat. "I leave the letter with you," he said. "Good-night." Stephen filled a wine glass with brandy, and drank it off, his hand shaking. Then he eyed Jack's letter curiously, and at last held the envelope over the steam of the hot water, and drew it apart. "A very sensible letter," he muttered, as he read. "Ambiguous, but all the better for that. Really, anyone reading this, would conclude that Jack had made up his mind to marry Lady Bell, and was ashamed to say so." Then he reclosed the envelope, and went to bed, and slept the sleep of the just. Meanwhile Jack strode around the streets of London, his brain in a whirl, half mad with "the desperation of despair," as a poet has it. At last he reached home, and found the rooms dark and lonesome, and Leonard in bed. He sat down and wrote a short note to Lady Bell, telling her that things had turned up which prevented him coming to Earl's Court--giving no reason, but just simply the fact. Then he turned out, and he walked about till daylight. When he came in Leonard was at breakfast, and stared aghast at Jack's haggard face and changed appearance. "My dear old man," he commenced, but Jack cut him short. "Len, I'm the most miserable wretch in existence. Don't ask me the why and the wherefore; but all is over between me and Una." "Impossible!" said Leonard. "Impossible, but true," retorted Jack. "All is over between us, and if you value our friendship you will not mention her name again." "But----" said Leonard. "Enough," said Jack. "I tell you that it is so." "Moss has been here again," Leonard said. "I don't care." "But, my dear fellow----" "I don't care," said Jack, stolidly. "A hundred Mosses wouldn't matter to me now. Let him do his worst." "You don't know what his worst is," said Leonard. "He has got you in his power." "All right," said Jack, coolly. "Let him exercise it to his uttermost." Leonard had never seen Jack like this. "Listen to me," he said. "If Moss does all he can do, he can expel you from any club in London, can make you an utter out-cast. Come, Jack, be reasonable." "I can't be reasonable!" retorted Jack. "I am utterly ruined and undone. With Una everything that is worth living for has gone. I care nothing for Moss or anything he can do." CHAPTER XXXIV. "In another hour he will be here," said Una, as she stood at her dressing-room window, and looked out upon the lawns and park of Hurst, where they stretched down toward the road. "Another hour!" and at the thought, a smile--yet scarcely a smile, but a suitable light like a sun ray stole over her face.