“It wasn’t to tell you so that I wanted to see you,” I replied; “for it seemed to me that such a communication would rest wholly with herself. If however she did speak to you of our conversation she probably told you I was discouraging.” “Discouraging?” “On the subject of a present application of The Coxon Fund.” “To the case of Mr. Saltram? My dear fellow, I don’t know what you call discouraging!” Gravener cried. “Well I thought I was, and I thought she thought I was.” “I believe she did, but such a thing’s measured by the effect. She’s not ‘discouraged,’” he said. “That’s her own affair. The reason I asked you to see me was that it appeared to me I ought to tell you frankly that—decidedly!—I can’t undertake to produce that effect. In fact I don’t want to!” “It’s very good of you, damn you!” my visitor laughed, red and really grave. Then he said: “You’d like to see that scoundrel publicly glorified—perched on the pedestal of a great complimentary pension?” I braced myself. “Taking one form of public recognition with another it seems to me on the whole I should be able to bear it. When I see the compliments that _are_ paid right and left I ask myself why this one shouldn’t take its course. This therefore is what you’re entitled to have looked to me to mention to you. I’ve some evidence that perhaps would be really dissuasive, but I propose to invite Mss Anvoy to remain in ignorance of it.” “And to invite me to do the same?” “Oh you don’t require it—you’ve evidence enough. I speak of a sealed letter that I’ve been requested to deliver to her.” “And you don’t mean to?” “There’s only one consideration that would make me,” I said. Gravener’s clear handsome eyes plunged into mine a minute, but evidently without fishing up a clue to this motive—a failure by which I was almost wounded. “What does the letter contain?” “It’s sealed, as I tell you, and I don’t know what it contains.” “Why is it sent through you?” “Rather than you?” I wondered how to put the thing. “The only explanation I can think of is that the person sending it may have imagined your relations with Miss Anvoy to be at an end—may have been told this is the case by Mrs. Saltram.” “My relations with Miss Anvoy are not at an end,” poor Gravener stammered. Again for an instant I thought. “The offer I propose to make you gives me the right to address you a question remarkably direct. Are you still engaged to Miss Anvoy?” “No, I’m not,” he slowly brought out. “But we’re perfectly good friends.” “Such good friends that you’ll again become prospective husband and wife if the obstacle in your path be removed?” “Removed?” he anxiously repeated. “If I send Miss Anvoy the letter I speak of she may give up her idea.” “Then for God’s sake send it!” “I’ll do so if you’re ready to assure me that her sacrifice would now presumably bring about your marriage.” “I’d marry her the next day!” my visitor cried.