Edward Henry and Mr. Marrier worked together admirably that afternoon on the arrangements for the corner-stone-laying. And--such was the interaction of their separate enthusiasms--it soon became apparent that all London (in the only right sense of the word "all") must and would be at the ceremony. Characteristically, Mr. Marrier happened to have a list or catalogue of all London in his pocket, and Edward Henry appreciated him more than ever. But towards four o’clock Mr. Marrier annoyed and even somewhat alarmed Edward Henry by a mysterious change of mien. His assured optimism slipped away from him. He grew uneasy, darkly preoccupied, and inefficient. At last when the clock in the room struck four, and Edward Henry failed to hear it, Mr. Marrier said: "I’m afraid I shall have to ask you to excuse me now." "Why?" "I told you I had an appointment for tea at four." "Did you? What is it?" Edward Henry demanded with an employer’s instinctive assumption that souls as well as brains can be bought for such sums as three pounds a week. "I have a lady coming to tea, here; that is, downstairs." "In this hotel?" "Yes." "Who is it?" Edward Henry pursued lightly, for though he appreciated Mr. Marrier, he also despised him. However, he found the grace to add: "May one ask?" "It’s Miss Elsie April." "Do you mean to say, Marrier," complained Edward Henry, "that you’ve known Miss Elsie April all these months and never told me? ... There aren’t two, I suppose? It’s the cousin or something of Rose Euclid?" Mr. Marrier nodded. "The fact is," he said, "she and I are joint honorary organising secretaries for the annual conference of the Azure Society. You know, it leads the New Thought movement in England." "You never told me that either." "Didn’t I, sir? I didn’t think it would interest you. Besides, both Miss April and I are comparatively new members." "Oh!" said Edward Henry with all the canny provincial’s conviction of his own superior shrewdness; and he repeated, so as to intensify this conviction and impress it on others, "Oh!" In the undergrowth of his mind was the thought: "How dare this man, whose brains belong to me, be the organising secretary of something that I don’t know anything about and don’t want to know anything about?" "Yes," said Mr. Marrier modestly. "I say," Edward Henry enquired warmly, with an impulsive gesture, "who is she?" "Who is she?" repeated Mr. Marrier blankly. "Yes. What does she do?" "Doesn’t do anything," said Mr. Marrier. "Very good amateur actress. Goes about a great deal. Her mother was on the stage. Married a wealthy wholesale corset-maker." "Who did? Miss April?" Edward Henry had a twinge. "No; her mother. Both parents are dead, and Miss April has an income--a considerable income." "What do you call considerable?" "Five or six thousand a year." "The deuce!" murmured Edward Henry. "May have lost a bit of it, of course," Mr. Marrier hedged. "But not much, not much!"