Markham, who had been at Cairo two months, had got himself engaged to be married. For several years I had been promising him a good position, that is to say, one more fitting a grown man of real capacity. But he made himself so useful that I put off redeeming my promise and eased my conscience and quieted his ambition with a succession of increases of salary. Now, however, I could no longer delay releasing him. So I must go back to New York, to find some one to take his place. Blankenship was wavering between a trip through West Africa and going to America with me, on the chance of my accompanying him on a shooting trip through British Columbia. He decided to stick to me, and as I had grown thoroughly used to having him about I was rather glad. It is astonishing how much comfort one can get out of the society of a silent man, when one feels that he is a good fellow and a devoted friend. I telegraphed Edna that I would be unable to come to London, where she then was. But she defeated my plan for not seeing her. When I reached Paris there she was waiting for me at the Ritz. She had a swarm of French, Italians, and English about her--I believe there were some Germans or Austrians, also. I refused to be annoyed with them, and we dined quietly with Blankenship, Markham, and a pretty little Countess de Salevac to act us buffers between us. I tried to avoid being left alone with her, but she would not have it so. She insisted on my coming to her sitting room after the others had gone. “I know you are tired,” said she, “but I shan’t detain you long.” “Please don’t,” said I. “The journey has knocked me out. I’ve not slept for two nights.” “It’s a shame to worry you----” I made for the door. “Not to-night--no worries. They’ll keep until to-morrow.” “No, Godfrey dear,” she said. “I must tell you at once. There is serious trouble between Margot and Hugh.” “Why, they haven’t been married a year.” “He has been treating her shamefully from the outset. In fact, he cut short the honeymoon to hurry back to that music-hall person.” “The one I saw him with?” “Yes--the same one--that notorious Jupey What’s-her-name. Isn’t it dreadful! Margot’s pride is up in arms. Nothing I say will quiet her.” “Um,” said I. “She refuses to understand that over here husbands are allowed a--a----” “Latitude,” I suggested. “More latitude than in America. I have talked with Hugh, too. He is--very difficult. Really, he isn’t at all as he seemed. He is a--he is horribly coarse.” “People who think of nothing but how to get money without work and how to spend it without usefulness are apt to be coarse, when you probe through to the reality of them.” “He is--defiant,” pursued she, too femininely practical to have interest in or patience with philosophy. “He-- Godfrey, he says he hates her. He won’t speak to her. And there’s no prospect of an heir. He says he wants to get rid of her.”