Yes, she was monstrously friendly--distrust that in your mistress whether wooed or won. She would do everything for Val that afternoon, except be left alone with him. The Lexingtons went--you can hardly stop people going in their own house; Miss Boots and Mr Sharpies, who were both there, went--to church. I tried to go, but she wouldn’t let me. Her refusal was quite obvious: Val--he was impeccable in manners--saw it. After precisely the right interval he rose and took his leave. I had the atlas on my knees then (we had got back to Assiniboia), and I studied it hard; but, honestly, I couldn’t help hearing. The tones of her voice, at least, hinted at no desire for privacy. “Once more a thousand congratulations--a thousand hopes for your success,” she said, giving him her hand, as I suppose--my eyes were on the atlas. “After that, I shall feel I’m working for you,” he replied gallantly. No doubt his very fine eyes pointed the remark. “Shall you?” she said, and laughed a little. “Oh, you’ll--I’ll write you a note quite soon--to-morrow or Tuesday. I won’t forget. And--good-bye!” “To-morrow or Tuesday? That’s certain?” His voice had an eagerness in it now. “Yes, certain. I won’t forget. And--good-bye!” “Good-bye!” he said, and I heard the door open. “A thousand hopes!” she said again. I suppose he made some response, but in words he made none. The door closed behind him. I put the atlas on the sofa by me, got up, and went to her. “I suppose I may go now, too?” I said. “How clever you’re growing, Mr Wynne! But just let him get out of the house. We mustn’t give it away.” A moment or two we stood in silence. Then she said: “You understand things. You shall have a note too--and a thousand hopes. And--good-bye!” Not a suspicion of the meaning of this afternoon’s scene crossed my mind, which fact proved me, I daresay, to be very stupid. But Val was hardly likely to see more clearly, and I can’t altogether justify the play she made with the atlas and Assiniboia. As an exercise in irony, however, it had its point. VIII I do not know what was in Val’s note: more of good-bye, and more than a thousand hopes, I imagine. Is it fanciful to mark that she had always said “hope” and never “confidence”? Mine bade me be at a certain corner of a certain street at eleven-thirty. “Where you will find me. Say nothing about it.” It was a little hard to say nothing whatever to Jane. I went and met them at the corner--Mrs Something Simpson, Kirby, and Miss Constantine. Thence we repaired to a registry office, and they (I do not include Mrs Simpson) were married. They were to sail from Liverpool that afternoon, and we went straight from the office to Euston. I think it was only when the question of luggage arose that I gasped out, “Where are you going?” “To Canada,” said Kirby briskly. “For your trip?” “For good and all,” he answered. “I’ve got leave--and sent in my resignation.”