For the first time for many weeks a memory returned to him of his visit to Harley Street and the problem of his "double" heart. What was it he had laughingly said? (How long ago that day seemed ... The era of Fantine and Cydonia.) Yes--"porridge" it was, and "Chianti!" He glanced up at the mantelpiece as Bethune, hearing steps outside, trundled away to give instructions to the bewildered Mario. "No change?" he heard him say. "All right--I'll see to it." A face smiled down at McTaggart out of a tarnished silver frame. Cydonia in a big black hat, white furs around her throat--with her childish mouth and wide eyes. He took it down and gazed at it. Cydonia!--the girl he had loved. Deliberately he placed the verb in the past tense. For it was true. Nothing of his passion remained, but a mild, wondering affection! Absence and time had achieved the cure. _One_ broken heart at least was mended! And Fantine...? At the name he felt a sudden stab of regret. How strange were life and life's emotions! Although her picture was destroyed--(he had done it in anger that fatal night) her image rose clear in his mind. Of the two women he missed her most--in the flood-tide of his return. Her stronger personality, the power of wit and imagination that blent with her careless scorn of men, her nameless, utterly feminine charm, had survived that other disillusion. He put Cydonia's portrait back quickly as Bethune re-entered the room. Then, conscious that his hasty action had not escaped his friend's eyes, in an indifferent voice, he asked: "Ever hear anything of the Cadells?" "Yes--no!" Bethune turned to the sideboard, horribly at a loss. He coughed, then started with a plunge to get his unwelcome news over. "Met 'Jinks' the other day--remember 'Jinks' of Trinity?--got his blue for Rugger--Well, he knows Miss Cadell--that was." "What?" McTaggart's voice was sharp. Bethune, fidgeting with the syphon, his back turned to his friend, received a sudden baptism, stinging and cold, of soda water. "Oh, damn!--now I've spilled it. Yes, that's it--She's married, you know. A chap called Euan Flemming--an M.P. for ... God knows where!" "Well--I'm blessed!" McTaggart laughed; a little sourly, truth to tell. Despite the conclusion arrived at earlier he felt somewhat taken aback. "Cheer up," he addressed the broad shoulders of his still perturbed friend. "You mixed the news with soda water but I could have stood it neat." Bethune wheeled round, his face red. "I'm jolly glad--I've been funking it." He met McTaggart's amused eyes and beamed all over his honest face. "That's over," said McTaggart--"long ago. What about dinner?--I'll just go and have a wash and be with you--if you're ready." "I should think I am!--half famished--I've been down at Brooklands with a new car. Hurry up!" He dropped into a chair as McTaggart called through the folding doors. "D'you ever see Jill now? It's a bad business about her mother."