“Some few years,” was the answer. “There was no regular engagement between them, but it was understood that they would marry as soon as they could. Elise was always rather reticent on the subject, but I gathered that there was some difficulty in the way with regard to Mr. Craig’s family. It was a very old and honourable one, and it was expected of him that when he did marry he would choose somebody of his own order. We are, of course, quite middle-class people, and by no means wealthy. My husband was a merchant.” Lydon pointed to the writing-table. “That is rather a valuable thing to leave lying about, if I may say so, madam.” The dark-haired woman looked at it with an air of indifference. “I had forgotten it in the preoccupation of my great trouble. It belongs to Elise. Her uncle, Monsieur Lianas, gave it to her on her twenty-first birthday. She was wearing it when the tragedy occurred. I only brought it back from the hospital this morning, and heedlessly laid it down there. But you are quite right; it is too valuable to be left lying about. I will lock it up directly. Heaven knows if my poor child will ever wear it again,” she concluded with a burst of tears. Leonard went back to England the next day, very sad at heart at the loss of his lifelong friend. He pondered much over the meagre information that Madame Makris had given him. The young people had known each other for some years. There had been no formal engagement between them, but it was an understood thing they were to be married as soon as they were in a position to do so. And during those years, although they had met so frequently, Craig had never dropped a word about Elise or her mother to his friend. So strange a silence passed beyond the bounds of ordinary reticence. There must be some reason for it, most likely some mystery behind it. He could quite understand that Hugh might find some difficulty in reconciling his family to his marriage with a foreigner of no particular position. But it was strange that a man should be in love and never say anything about it to his closest friend. As was natural under such painful circumstances, his thoughts of Gloria Stormont had been temporarily pushed into the background; but after a little, when the first violence of the shock had passed away, her charming image again recurred to him. What a beautiful girl she was, and how delightfully unaffected! Was it likely he would ever come across her again? Her uncle had spoken of it as a probability when he remarked that after all the world was a small place. And a fortnight later, Howard Stormont’s prophecy was fulfilled. Lydon suddenly made up his mind to run down for a week-end to the _Metropole_ at Brighton. As he ascended the steps of the well-known hotel about an hour before dinner-time, the first person he encountered in the vestibule was the genial Stormont, looking more prosperous and rubicund than ever. Nothing could have been more hearty than the greeting Lydon received.