“Don’t—don’t you think Captain Trimblett is lucky?” she inquired, with an attempt at audacity. Mr. Vyner pondered. “No,” he said at last. Miss Hartley caught her breath. “How rude!” she said, after a pause, lowering her eyes. “No, it isn’t,” said Robert. “Really!” remonstrated Miss Hartley. “I think that I am luckier than he is,” said Robert, in a low voice. “At least, I hope so. Shall I tell you why?” “No,” said Joan, quickly. Mr. Vyner moistened his lips. “Perhaps you know,” he said, unsteadily. Joan made no reply. “You do know,” said Robert. Miss Hartley looked up with a sudden, careless laugh. “It sounds like a conundrum,” she said, gayly. “But it doesn’t matter. I hope you will be lucky.” “I intend to be,” said Robert. “My hus—husband,” said Joan, going very red, “would probably use the word ’fate’ instead of ’luck.’” “It is a favourite word of my wife’s,” said Robert gravely. “Ah, what a couple they would have made!” “_Who_?” inquired Joan, eying him in bewilderment. “My wife and your husband,” said Robert. “I believe they were made for each other.” Miss Hartley retreated in good order. “I think you are talking nonsense,” she said, with some dignity. “Yes,” said Robert, with a smile. “Ground-bait.” “What?” said Joan, in a startled voice. “Ground-bait.” Miss Hartley made an appeal to his better feelings. “You are making my head ache,” she said, pathetically. “I’m sure I don’t know what you are talking about.” Mr. Vyner apologized, remarking that it was a common fault of young husbands to talk too much about their wives, and added, as an interesting fact, that he had only been married that afternoon. Miss Hartley turned a deaf ear. He spread a little ground-bait—of a different kind—before Hartley during the next few days, and in a short time had arrived at a pretty accurate idea of the state of affairs. It was hazy and lacking in detail, but it was sufficient to make him give Laurel Lodge a wide berth for the time being, and to work still harder for that share in the firm which he had always been given to understand would be his. In the meantime he felt that Joan’s _marriage de convenance_ was a comfortable arrangement for all parties concerned. This was still his view of it as he sat in his office one afternoon about a couple of months after Captain Trimblett’s departure. He had met Miss Hartley in the street the day before, and, with all due regard to appearances, he could not help thinking that she had been somewhat unnecessarily demure. In return she had gone away with three crushed fingers and a colour that was only partially due to exercise. He was leaning back in his chair thinking it over when his father entered. “Busy?” inquired John Vyner. “Frightfully,” said his son, unclasping his hands from the back of his head. “I have just been speaking to Hartley,” said the senior partner, watching him keenly. “I had a letter this morning from the Trimblett family.” “Eh?” said his son, staring.