But Harry was not an unpractical man--not one of those for whom words take place of actions--and he could face facts. Valentia was irrevocably lost to him. To attempt to regain Miss Walmer, although it might perhaps not be impossible, would make him ridiculous. The letter he had written at Romer's dictation had been too definite. He would give himself away hopelessly as a fortune-hunter if he tried to go back on that. Besides, he was absolutely sick of it all, and if he was more in love with Valentia than he had ever supposed himself to be because she no longer wanted him, he disliked the thought of Miss Walmer far more than he ever had before, because he was convinced she would forgive him and be devoted to him even now. Van Buren had taken the knock, as he expressed it, using with relish the English slang phrase, with regard to Daphne, and he had made up his mind to return to New York. Under the circumstances he now had little difficulty in persuading Harry to come out with him right away. He undertook to provide for his friend's future, and that he should make a fortune in the Bank, and perhaps when this was agreed upon Van Buren had never been so happy. He was far more genuinely a man's man than was Harry. He regarded women from the point of view of the well-bred American--with deference, a sort of distant tenderness, a most chivalrous and gentle respect. He looked upon them as ornamental and as delightful adjuncts to life, like flowers in a ball-room, but not seriously as part of it. Nor, either, as mere toys. He placed women far more highly than Harry did; he thought everything should be done for them, given to them, that they had a right to any position they were able to hold, that they should be treated with reverence, consideration, liberality ... and even justice; but--he could do without them. Harry couldn't. And so they would always continue to fall in love with Harry, and to find Van Buren a little dull. * * * * * When Romer arrived at the Green Gate that afternoon he found Valentia sitting alone in the drawing-room. Her hands were clasped, she had a serious, anxious, thoughtful expression that he had never seen before. He was surprised at the painful start it gave him to see her again, but he came in defying this sensation. "Hallo!" he said, in what he meant to be a perfectly easy manner. He glanced round the room. "Where's Harry?" "Harry's gone," said Valentia, in a low voice. "Oh, has he?" Romer walked to the window. He looked at her dress, a white dress that he liked, but did not meet her eyes. Then he said-- "Oh, he's gone. When is he coming back?" "Never," she said. Romer didn't answer, nor ask why. After a minute he said-- "Where's Daphne?" "Gone to stay with Mrs. Foster for a week." "Oh! Who's coming down to-day?" "Nobody. I thought perhaps you wouldn't mind--being alone, I mean." She spoke without her usual fluency.