“Tell me about it,” said Elwell, paying no attention to his anger. “What are we to do?” “I’m blessed if I know,” replied Peter ruefully. “It looks mighty bad;” and then with a return of his passion, he demanded angrily: “Why in the devil’s name didn’t you tell me the truth?” “I have told you the truth,” retorted the other. “Did you suppose I knew of their coming?” “No, but I did,” replied Peter, with a groan. “I sent for ’em.” “_You sent for them?_” “Yes; I sent for them; but how was I to know?” Seeing the bottle on the desk, Peter paid no attention to the other’s look of anger and astonishment until after he had taken a hearty drink. “I’m mighty glad you got that, anyway,” he said coolly, as he wiped his mouth. Then he looked at his client calmly, still holding the bottle in his hand affectionately. “Maybe you don’t know who they are,” he said. “Know who they are,” stammered the other, his face paling a little, “why, it is Norine--the Brights.” “Not a bit of it,” retorted Peter, sitting on the desk and swinging one leg in the air. “They are the Darlings.” “The Darlings!” cried the other. “It is not possible.” “Oh, but it is, though,” returned Peter. “They are the Darlings fast enough. They came up here to sell us that thousand-acre tract, and as you have already cut the timber on the greater part of it--well, you see,” he concluded, still swinging his leg easily, “it rather complicates matter.” Elwell could only stare at him blankly, and repeat: “It is impossible!” “God knows I wish it was,” said Peter piously, “but I know better. And just to think,” he said, shaking his head ruefully, “I brought them here, and even got her that place in the room.” Elwell, or Percival, as you choose to call him, paced back and forth across the office. This news had somewhat shaken his confidence. “If they are the Darlings,” he said, at last, “they must be wealthy.” “Rich as mud,” replied Peter consolingly. The other pulled his mustache and bit his lips in his perplexity. “What are we to do?” he demanded, at last. Coleman thought long and intently. “There is nothing we can do yet,” he said at last, “but to take care that neither Fanny nor the old man interferes. They were as greatly surprised as you were. I know they supposed you to be dead. If you can manage to see her alone--_alone_, you might be able to work the divorce on her, make her think it genuine, you know. She has been disappointed in you,” continued Peter gravely, “and perhaps if she could be brought to believe in the divorce, she might be glad to be rid of you.” Elwell winced. He wanted to get rid of her. But to have her glad to get rid of him--that was different.