"Well, Lexie had a hard time for weeks. She couldn’t get an engagement anywhere. So when the furs came she togged herself out in them and went and saw De Freyne. He took her on again because he thought she’d got rich quick, and that there was a man in it. He was awfully puzzled. Instead of asking her he tried to pump me, and I found myself telling stories." Her face screwed up funnily. "Oh, I let him think! He fancies it’s a royalty—a prince—who’s running Lexie, and he’s given her a part and a song on the strength of it. It goes in three days from now. It’s an awfully big thing for her. I’ve persuaded her not to split—not to let on that her prince is all a fairy story. As I put it to her: she can’t come to much harm with an _imaginary_ man. Now, on the night she’ll look so bare." "Bare?" echoed Chalfont. "Bare of jewelry, I mean." "Oh, I see!" "Her dress is white and pink and turquoise, a duck of a thing. But she won’t have a single ornament to wear; so if De Freyne is to go on believing what I told him about the prince she ought to have some. Diamonds for choice. It doesn’t matter about afterwards. He’ll have seen them once and think she’s put them away for safety. Now that’s where you can help. If you’ll lend them I’ll make her wear them. You _have_ got some diamonds, haven’t you?" she asked anxiously. "Yes, in the bank. Of course I’ll lend you some," said Chalfont readily. "I’ll telephone through if you like and tell the bank to send them along. How will that do?" "Splendid! That is good of you." "Not at all. I’m very glad to be able to help Miss Hersey. Besides, I wouldn’t for worlds spoil the practical joke you’ve played on De Freyne." He laughed. "It’s one of the best things I ever heard of." "And you won’t let on to Lexie?" "Not a word. It shall be our secret." "I _knew_ I could count on you," said Maggy confidently. Chalfont looked at his watch. It was ten now, and the bank would be open, so he went to the telephone and gave the necessary instructions. "Where have you been all this while?" Maggy asked him when he came back to his seat. "I wondered whether you would take my advice and plump for some wild place." "As it happens it’s just as well I didn’t. You wouldn’t be pouring out coffee for me if I had gone to the Rockies or Central Africa," he smiled. "I went for a commonplace cruise to Madeira and back instead." "I’m glad you didn’t, now.... Do you feel better—about things?" He knew she was thinking of Mrs. Lambert, and liked her all the better for her indefiniteness. It showed delicacy. "I think so," he answered. "I have often recalled something you said when we stood at the window of the little house in Albert Place: ’Life goes on,’ were the words. I’m going on with mine. I’m trying to make the best of it."