“I think you are being a little horrid,” said her mother, repressing her anger with an effort; “you’re certainly being very unkind. I suppose all this nonsense has arisen out of my mistaken confidence.” The girl made no reply. “I think I’ll go to bed, mother,” she said. “And whilst you’re engaged in settling your estimate of people,” said Mrs. Cathcart with ominous calm, “perhaps you will interpret your fiancé’s behaviour to me. Dr. Cassylis particularly wanted to meet him.” “I am not going to interpret anything,” said the girl. “Don’t employ that tone with me,” replied her mother sharply. The girl stopped, she was half-way to the door. She hardly turned, but spoke to her mother over her shoulder. “Mother,” she said, quietly but decidedly, “I want you to understand this: if there is any more bother, or if I am again made the victim of your crossness, I shall write to Gilbert and break off my engagement.” “Are you mad?” gasped the woman. Edith shook her head. “No, I am tired,” she said, “tired of many things.” There was much that Mrs. Cathcart could have said, but with a belated wisdom she held her tongue till the door had closed behind her daughter. Then, late as the hour was, she sent for the cook and settled herself grimly for a pleasing half hour, for the _vol-au-vent_ had been atrocious. CHAPTER IV. THE “MELODY IN F” Gilbert Standerton was dressing slowly before his glass when Leslie was announced. That individual was radiant and beautiful to behold as became the best man at the wedding of an old friend. Leslie Frankfort was one of those fortunate individuals who combine congenial work with the enjoyment of a private income. He was the junior partner of a firm of big stockbrokers in the City, a firm which dealt only with the gilt-edged markets of finance. He enjoyed in common with Gilbert a taste for classical music, and this was the bond which had first drawn the two men together. He came into the room, deposited his silk hat carefully upon a chair, and sat on the edge of the bed, offering critical suggestions to the prospective bridegroom. “By the way,” he said suddenly, “I saw that old man of yours yesterday.” Gilbert looked round. “You mean Springs, the musician?” The other nodded. “He was playing for the amusement of a theatre queue--a fine old chap.” “Very,” said Gilbert absently. He paused in his dressing, took up a letter from the table, and handed it to the other. “Am I to read it?” asked Leslie. Gilbert nodded. “There’s nothing to read, as a matter of fact,” he said; “it’s my uncle’s wedding present.” The young man opened the envelope and extracted the pink slip. He looked at the amount and whistled. “One hundred pounds,” he said. “Good Lord! that won’t pay the up-keep of your car for a quarter. I suppose you told Mrs. Cathcart?” Gilbert shook his head.