"I do not quite follow you," he said coldly. Then looking at the guileless and faithful being beside him, he softened once more. Was it not only more just, but more honourable, to treat this matter with candour? "You are alluding to the lady who was good enough to send for me the night you and Miss Lovegrove went with me to the play?" "Yes," the excellent George assented in a strangled voice. He wanted to know badly. He was agonised by fear of having committed an indiscretion offensive to his idol. "Set your mind quite at rest on that point then, my dear friend. Her world is not my world and never will be. In it I should be very much out of place." Iglesias moved forward again, crossing the Broad Walk and making towards the small iron gate, at the lower corner of the Gardens, which opens on to Kensington High Street. But he walked slowly, becoming conscious that he grew tired and spent. The glory of the spirit dominant was departing, the tyranny of the body dominant beginning to reassert itself. His features contracted slightly. He felt unreasoningly sad. George Lovegrove walked beside him in silence, his eyes downcast, his heart stirred by vague tumultuous sympathy, his modest nature at once inflamed and abashed, recognising in his companion the hero of an exalted and tragic romance. "Well, he looks it. It suits his character and appearance," he said to himself, adding aloud--for the very life of him he could not help it--"But she was very beautiful, Dominic." "Yes," Iglesias answered, "she is beautiful and very clever and--very unhappy." The good George's heart positively thumped against his ribs. "And to think of all the plans the wife and I have been making!" he said to himself. "If she wants me, she will send for me," Iglesias continued quietly, "and I shall go to her at once, as I went that evening, without hesitation or delay, wherever she may be. But," he added, "it becomes increasingly improbable that she will send for me. I have not seen her or heard from her since that night. And so, my dear friend, you perceive that your kindly fears of having circumscribed my liberty of choice in respect of a place of residence are quite unfounded. I have no reason for leaving Cedar Lodge or altering my accustomed habits." Iglesias smiled affectionately, as dismissing the whole matter. "And now," he continued, "that little misunderstanding being cleared up, will you mind my turning into the restaurant just here, in High Street, for a cup of coffee and a roll? I have not breakfasted yet." Whereupon George Lovegrove pranced before him, incoherent in kindly remonstrance and advice. "At 11 A. M., and after your severe indisposition at Christmas, too, out walking on an empty stomach! It is positively suicidal. Where have you been to?" he cried. "To Mass," Iglesias answered, still smiling, though with something of a fighting light in his eyes and a lift of his head. His companion stared at him in blank amazement. "To what?" he said.