“Yes--if you go by yourself. You don’t know what sort of man he is; you don’t know how he may receive you. Let me try first, and pave the way, as the saying is. Trust my experience, my dear. In matters of this sort there is nothing like paving the way.” I considered a moment. It was due to my good friend to consider before I said No. Reflection decided me on taking the responsibility, whatever it might be, upon my own shoulders. Good or bad, compassionate or cruel, the Major was a man. A woman’s influence was the safest influence to trust with him, where the end to be gained was such an end as I had in view. It was not easy to say this to Benjamin without the danger of mortifying him. I made an appointment with the old man to call on me the next morning at the hotel, and talk the matter over again. Is it very disgraceful to me to add that I privately determined (if the thing could be accomplished) to see Major Fitz-David in the interval? “Do nothing rash, my dear. In your own interests, do nothing rash!” Those were Benjamin’s last words when we parted for the day. I found Eustace waiting for me in our sitting-room at the hotel. His spirits seemed to have revived since I had seen him last. He advanced to meet me cheerfully, with an open sheet of paper in his hand. “My business is settled, Valeria, sooner than I had expected,” he began, gayly. “Are your purchases all completed, fair lady? Are _you_ free too?” I had learned already (God help me!) to distrust his fits of gayety. I asked, cautiously, “Do you mean free for to-day?” “Free for to-day, and to-morrow, and next week, and next month--and next year too, for all I know to the contrary,” he answered, putting his arm boisterously round my waist. “Look here!” He lifted the open sheet of paper which I had noticed in his hand, and held it for me to read. It was a telegram to the sailing-master of the yacht, informing him that we had arranged to return to Ramsgate that evening, and that we should be ready to sail for the Mediterranean with the next tide. “I only waited for your return,” said Eustace, “to send the telegram to the office.” He crossed the room as he spoke to ring the bell. I stopped him. “I am afraid I can’t go to Ramsgate to-day,” I said. “Why not?” he asked, suddenly changing his tone, and speaking sharply. I dare say it will seem ridiculous to some people, but it is really true that he shook my resolution to go to Major Fitz-David when he put his arm round me. Even a mere passing caress from _him_ stole away my heart, and softly tempted me to yield. But the ominous alteration in his tone made another woman of me. I felt once more, and felt more strongly than ever, that in my critical position it was useless to stand still, and worse than useless to draw back. “I am sorry to disappoint you,” I answered. “It is impossible for me (as I told you at Ramsgate) to be ready to sail at a moment’s notice. I want time.” “What for?”