The letter lay on the top of others on his desk, and instead of going to find Beverley at once, as was his lover's custom, he sat down to read his correspondence. The first letter he opened was Heron's, which consisted of a few lines on one page. Roger's eyes took in the whole at a glance. DEAR MR. SANDS: My wife and I are obliged to you for your kind invitation, but owing to the fact that we have already made a great number of engagements I fear we shall be unable to give ourselves the pleasure of accepting. Yours truly, JOHN HERON. The blood rushed to Roger's forehead. He realized that this was a deliberate insult. The last letter had begun "Dear Sands," and had been signed "Yours gratefully ever." Roger was even more furious than mystified. "Next time he wants me to pull him out of a death trap, he can whistle for his pains!" At that instant Beverley tapped at the door, and half opened it to peep in. This irritated Roger. He had told her from the first that she need not knock at his study door. "How often have I begged you not to knock?" he broke out at her. "Come in if you want to." It was the first time he had ever spoken crossly. Beverley started, and the look on her face, instead of overwhelming Roger with remorse, hardened him. Beverley's colour had been bright, but she turned pale as Roger flung at her his scolding words. Seeing the letter in her husband's hand the blood streamed back to her cheeks. If she could possibly have known and recognized Heron's writing, it might have seemed that the sight of it had struck her with fear. But no such far-fetched thought occurred to her husband. "I--I'm sorry!" she said hastily. "I heard your voice--I supposed someone was with you----" Roger forgot that he had spoken aloud. In silence he let the girl cross the floor and sit down in the easy chair she called "hers." She dropped into it as if her knees had given way, and looked at Roger. When he did not speak, she could bear the suspense no longer. "You--you're reading a letter--I interrupted you?" "The letter's of no importance," said Roger, throwing it upon the desk. "It's only from John Heron to tell me that he and his wife won't be able to come and see us at Newport. One would suppose by his tone that he was offended. Probably Mrs. Heron expected you to gush over the wedding present, and has put him up to snubbing me because you didn't." "You asked the Herons to visit us? I--didn't know----" "I did ask them," Roger cut her short. "I heard they were coming East." "Oh, Roger, I couldn't have met them! If they'd accepted I should have had to be ill, or--or go away!" Beverley exclaimed on one of her impulses, which instantly she appeared to regret. "I'm glad you don't like Mr. Heron's letter, because--you'll never ask them again! I haven't done anything to annoy you, have I?" "You know best whether you have or not." "What do you mean?"