He did. He went down to Amberley in July, arriving early in a golden and benignant afternoon. It was precisely two years since he had been there with Philippa. It was very quiet this year, so quiet that he had an hour alone with Fanny on the terrace before tea. Brocklebank had taken the others off somewhere in his motor. She broke it to him that the lady in whom he was interested wasn't there. Straker smiled. He knew she wouldn't be. The others, Fanny explained, were Laurence Furnival and his Idea. "His Idea?" "His Idea, Jimmy, of everything that's lovable." There was a luminous pause in which Fanny let it sink into him. "Then it's come off, has it?" "I don't know, but I think it's coming." "Dear Mrs. Brockles, how did you manage it?" "I didn't. That's the beauty of it. He managed it himself. He asked me to have her down." She let him take that in, too, in all its immense significance. "Who is she?" "Little Molly Milner--a niece of Nora Viveash's. He met her there last winter." Their eyes met, full of remembrance. "If anybody managed it, it was Nora. Jimmy, do you know, that woman's a perfect dear." "I know you always said so." "_He_ says so. He says she behaved like an angel, like a saint, about it. When you think how she cared! I suppose she saw it was the way to save him." Straker was silent. He saw Nora Viveash as he had seen her on the terrace two years ago, on the day of Philippa's arrival; and as she had come to him afterward and asked him to stand by Furnival in his bad hour. "What is it like, Furny's Idea?" he asked presently. "It's rather like Nora, only different. It's her niece, you know." "If it's Nora's niece, it must be very young." "It is. It's absurdly young. But, oh, so determined!" "Has she by any chance got Nora's temperament?" "She's got her own temperament," said Fanny. Straker meditated on that. "How does it take him?" he inquired. "It takes him beautifully. It makes him very quiet, and a little sad. That's why I think it's coming." Fanny also meditated. "Yes. It's coming. There's only one thing, Jimmy. Philippa's coming, too. She's coming to-day, by that four-something train." "My dear Fanny, how you _do_ mix 'em!" It was his tribute to her enduring quality. "I asked her before I knew Laurence Furnival was coming." "_She_ knew?" "I--I think so." They looked at each other. Then Fanny spoke. "Jimmy," she said, "do you think you could make love to Philippa? Just, _just_," she entreated (when, indeed, had she not appealed to him to save her from the consequences of her indiscretions?), "until Furny goes?" Straker's diplomatic reply was cut short by the appearance of Laurence Furnival and Molly Milner, Nora's niece. They came down the long terrace with the sun upon them. She was all in white, with here and there a touch of delicate green. She was very young; and, yes, she was very like Mrs. Viveash, with all the difference of her youth and of her soul.