Lionel longed to say, "Madam, my life and fortune are at your disposal. Let there be no mention of money between us." But seeing that his stock of ready cash had dwindled to twopence-halfpenny (he had bought a packet of ten cigarettes the day before, and now cursed the extravagance), he could only say, "As you will." "Thank you," she said softly, and laid her hand on his head. He thrilled, and she administered a necessary antidote. "It is for Lukos!" "Oh, hang Lukos!" he groaned in spirit; and then in swift repentance his thoughts mumbled, "No, no! Bless Lukos--dear old Lukos! Poor old chap!" After this there had been nothing but idle conversation until the hour of his departure approached. Once Beatrice fell into a fit of musing and presently she said, "What a fool I was to tell Mizzi!" A younger man might have said, "Not at all: it was perfectly natural." Lionel, older, more self-reliant, and more honest, replied simply, "We all make mistakes," for he thought her folly almost incredible. She felt this--they were more than _sympathiques_--and said, "Ah! if you knew! I was very lonely one night ... lonely and sad ... I had to talk to some one, and believed her a true friend. You can imagine my self-reproach." He could, and felt himself more than justified in pressing her hand. Presently there had been some suspense, for when the time came for him to leave the flat, at half past four, Beatrice had peeped from the window and imagined that she saw a man watching the house. Lionel peeped too, but could see nothing. Nevertheless they had waited another ten minutes, as long as they dared if he was to catch the first train. But at length he resolved to risk a spy, and after a brief, tense, but outwardly calm "good-by" he had left the house. By taking a cab he reached Euston in time, and at last was established in the train. So far as he knew, he had not been followed: the only stranger he had noticed had been a man who was in the train before he was on the platform, so from him there could be nothing to fear. And now he was in The Happy Heart, resting after a dusty three-mile walk from Shereling station, drinking good English beer, far from all thought of Oriental craft and scheming. He was in Shereling, on the second stage of his fond adventure. What was to be the first step?