"Yes, auntie, he is," Marigold declared. "But I didn’t tell him how bad I feel. I really don’t know what has come over me." "Why not let him call the doctor?" "Oh, no. I’ll be all right soon," she said cheerfully; and then she reseated herself in the summer twilight near the open window. At half-past eight o’clock Bernard Boyne, having washed and changed his clothes, went out. Marigold fell to wondering where he might be going. It had been arranged that Gerald should be on watch outside the house that night, but when they had met at lunch, he had told her that he was compelled to accompany his principal to Birmingham that afternoon, for a conference was to be held in that city on the following day. "I may be away for a day or two, dear," he had said. "But in the meanwhile discover all you can." Boyne went direct from Hammersmith to Pont Street, where he found that his wife had gone out to dinner. She would be back soon after ten, the young man-servant informed him. Therefore he went to his room and put on evening clothes—a very smartly-cut suit with white waist-coat and mother-of-pearl and diamond buttons. As he stood before the long cheval glass, examining himself after he had tied his cravat and put on his coat, the transformation, he thought, was surely complete. Nobody meeting him in that luxuriously furnished house would ever have recognised in him the trudging, hard-working insurance agent of Hammersmith. He descended to the drawing-room, but his wife did not return till past ten. She was in a strikingly handsome gown of black-and-gold tissue, with a shimmering ornament in her hair, while around her neck was a rope of splendid pearls. "Well, Lilla!" he exclaimed pleasantly, as he threw himself lazily into a soft arm-chair. "I’m glad you’re back early. Where are we to meet Ena?" "At Murray’s, at eleven. Then we go on to the Carlton to supper," was her reply. "Remember our name to-night is Davidson, and we live at Welsford Hall, in Northamptonshire. Ena wants to introduce us to Mrs. Morrison." "But Mrs. Morrison is likely to meet one of us again, and it might be awkward," the man remarked, as he slowly lit a cigarette. "She is not likely to meet us again—except at Ena’s house—is she?" said his wife, with a curious expression in her narrow eyes. "No, I suppose not—if all goes right, and there is no hitch," he said reflectively. "Hitch! How can there be a hitch?" asked Lilla. "Ena will do her part, while you do yours." "When does Ena propose that the little affair shall be done?" he asked. "Next Saturday—if that suits you?" "Saturday," he repeated again reflectively, as he examined his cigarette. "It will take about nine to ten days, so on the following Monday or Tuesday week it should be complete."