"There you are!" laughed Ena. "He divined it." The meal went on merrily to its end, after which the maid handed round the black coffee in exquisite little china cups, the spoons having handles shaped like coffee beans. Then she retired. Ena, glancing at the old chiming clock upon the mantelshelf, suddenly exclaimed: "Oh! it’s getting late! And Evans hasn’t put on the liqueurs. I’ll get them myself." And rising she obtained from the sideboard four liqueur glasses, together with bottles of old brandy, Benedictine and Triple-Sec. "Now, dear, you’ll have your favourite Cointreau," she said, addressing Mrs. Morrison, and pouring out a glass of the clear water-like extract of Tangerine oranges. "No—no thanks!" was the prompt reply. "I really don’t want it." "Oh, but you must!" declared her hostess, pressing her. "I’m going to have one, and so will you, Lilla, I’m sure." "Oh! yes. I love it," declared the other woman, while Boyne glanced eagerly to satisfy himself that the stem of Mrs. Morrison’s glass was _round and not square_. "Come, you must have half a glass, dear," declared Ena, and she poured it out disregarding her guest’s half-hearted protests. Then, the others being served, the big silver box of rose-tipped cigarettes was opened, and they took one each. Bernard Boyne watched the widow from Scotland sipping her small glass with the utmost satisfaction, while the other two women were excited, though they seemed quite cool, engaging her in conversation. "Do you know," exclaimed Mrs. Morrison, "I grow more fond of this liqueur each time I take it. We can’t get it in Scotland, so I order it from London. It is the purest of all the liqueurs, that is my belief." "It is," declared Boyne, with a meaning look towards Ena. "It is never injurious as so many of these green, red and yellow alcoholic and sugar concoctions are." "No," replied the wealthy owner of Carsphairn. "I quite agree." And she drained her glass with undisguised satisfaction. "It has a most exquisite flavour, and it does one no harm." Boyne smiled grimly across to his hostess and suggested that they should be going if they wanted to be there at the opening of the revue. The quartette sat in a box, and greatly enjoyed the medley of songs and dances until, at the close, they went off to a gay supper at Giro’s, which they did not leave till nearly two in the morning. Just before Boyne dropped his wife from a taxi at the corner of Pont Street, he said: "Well, Lilla! It all went well, didn’t it? No hitch. We ought to have some news from Lancaster Gate about Wednesday or Thursday." "Good!" replied the woman. "We’ll wait in patience. Only I do hope it will turn out as we expect." "It will—never fear! Good-night." And she stepped out to walk down the street to her own house, while he continued in the taxi to Hammersmith Broadway, where he also alighted. Then, as he walked home, he muttered to himself: