Mr. Priestley was a man of resilient disposition. Living as he had so far out of the everyday world, the things of the world passed him by without his very much noticing them. One day out in the world there might be a miners’ strike, but the next day Mr. Priestley had forgotten all about it; one day there would be a railway disaster most distressing at the moment of reading, the next there had never been a railway disaster at all; one night out in the big world Mr. Priestley might shoot a blackguard, the next his action had receded into a bad dream. Even the handcuff, last tangible link with that extraordinary affair, had been miraculously removed by Barker, to whom all things seemed possible. Mr. Priestley had reached the stage of having to pinch himself before he could realise that the thing had really happened. It is true that Laura remained, one last link and, presumably, a tangible one, especially when being bidden good-night. But Laura was a different affair altogether. Sipping his hot toddy, Mr. Priestley meditated not without awe how very different Laura was—different from everything and every one there had ever been before in the history of the world. Indubitably Laura was a different affair. When he went to bed thirty minutes later, to sleep like a log all night, Mr. Priestley was still pondering reverently upon the really quite astonishing difference of Laura. He had cause for further reflection the next morning, for that young woman, although greeting him with cheerful nieceishness at the breakfast-table, did not offer even a hand by way of token; indeed, she was at some pains to avoid her host’s distinctly pleading eye. During the meal Mr. Priestley found rueful employment in cutting down his arithmetical calculations by exactly one-half. For an hour afterwards in the study Laura wrestled nobly with the obscurities of Juvenal. The time did not pass unpleasantly. She had a translation given her, and in the intervals of wrestling was able to discover some quite interesting reading therein. Mr. Priestley, pretending to scan his morning paper by the fire, glanced at her contentedly from time to time. This was a good idea of his, secretarial employment; working away at Juvenal, the poor girl would quite imagine that she was performing her share of a two-sided bargain; it would never occur to her now to consider herself an object of charity, with the inevitable resentment that a high-spirited girl naturally would feel in such circumstances. Yes, a really brilliant idea. Mr. Priestley turned to his _Daily Courier_ for the forty-seventh time.