"Yes," said Paul, and replacing the case in his pocket went down the street with his friend. Then he determined to ask his opinion, and related the gist of Mrs. Beecot's letter. "And now the mater wires to have it back," he said. "I expect my father has found out that she has sent it to me, and is furious." "Well, send it back and have done with it," said Hay, impatiently; "you are in danger of becoming a bore with that brooch, Beecot. I'll lend you money if you like." "No, thanks, I have three pounds honestly earned. However, we'll speak no more of the brooch. I'll send it back this very day. Tell me," he linked his arm within that of his friend, "tell me of that man." "That man--of the working creature," said Hay, absently. "Pooh, the man was no more a working man than I am." "Well, I thought myself he was a bit of a fraud." "Detectives never do make up well," said Grexon, calmly. Paul stopped as they turned into Oxford Street. "What? Was the man a detective?" "I think so, from your description of his conversation. The fact is I'm in love with a lady who is married. We have behaved quite well, and no one can say a word against us. But her husband is a beast and wants a divorce. I have suspected for some time that he is having me watched. Thanks to you, Paul, I am now sure. So perhaps you will understand why the man warned you against me and talked of my being a man-on-the-market." "I see," said Paul, hesitating; "but don't get into trouble, Hay." "Oh, I'm all right. And I don't intend to do anything dishonorable, if that is what you mean. It's the husband's fault, not mine. By the way, can you describe the fellow?" "Yes. He had red hair and a red beard--rather a ruddy face, and walked with a limp." "All put on," said Hay, contemptuously; "probably the limp was affected, the beard false, the hair a wig, and the face rouged--very clumsy indeed. I daresay he'll appear pale and gentlemanly the next time he watches me. I know the tricks of these fellows." The two friends talked for some time about this episode, and then branched off into other subjects. Hay described the married lady he adored, and Paul rebuked him for entertaining such a passion. "It's not right, Hay," said he, positively; "you can't respect a woman who runs away from her husband." "She hasn't run away yet, Sir Galahad," laughed Grexon. "By Jove, you are an innocent!" "If that means respecting the institution of marriage and adoring women as angels I hope I'll remain an innocent." "Oh, women are angels, of course," said Hay as they walked down Gwynne Street; "it's a stock phrase in love-making. But there are angels of two sorts. Dulcinea is--"