"Well, say you won't have him. Nobody can force you to. What's the good of being a woman if you can't have your own way about the man you marry?" "Hark!" cried Gertrude, "the bell!" and she turned quite pale. "It must be he." "Which he?" cried the old woman shortly. "Can't be our Mr George Harrington, because he was to go to Lincoln's Inn about this time. And I don't believe it is likely to be the other. He'll never come back at all. Oh, the pest?" Mrs Denton looked from one to the other with a satisfied air, as she handed the letter she brought in to Gertrude, her air suggesting that she expected to be spoken to; but as nothing was said, she shrugged her shoulders and left the room. "From Saul Harrington," said Gertrude, opening the letter with trembling hands. It was dated the previous day from a well-known hotel in Paris, and very brief. He hoped his dear little cousin would be glad to hear he had reached Paris all right, and was having lovely weather. He said that the gay city was full of temptations, but he was going to resist them all, and leave in forty-eight hours for Chamounix, which he should make his headquarters till he went on to the Tyrol. "Tell George," he continued, "that I consider he has lost his manliness in pinning himself to your apron till the happy day. He had far better join me out here for a good tramp. If he likes to alter his mind he can easily catch up to me, and I faithfully promise to send him bark in ample time for a certain event. Under the circumstances I shall probably not return till after you are married, so forgive my absence. I wish you every happiness." "Then that man has not joined him yet, my dear." "No, Mrs Hampton. Is it not very strange?" "Very, my dear." "Why do you speak like that? It is as if you had some hidden meaning." "I only think that he did not go and join him." Gertrude looked at her rather curiously, and then said in an eager way: "It would be easy to find out if he has joined him since." "By telegraphing. Are you going to do this?" Gertrude shook her head. "Would you like me to send a message?" "Yes--no--I hardly know what to say." Mrs Hampton stuck her ball of wool on the point of the shining knitting-pin she held, and spun it round for a few times. "It would be satisfactory for everybody to know," she said at last. "Ring the bell, my dear, and I'll send a message."