"I have been finding out things--I have not been altogether unsuccessful--but the things are rather on my mind," the author explained. "How does Steel take the development, by the way?" "As a joke!" cried Morna, with indignation; her husband was her echo both as to words and tone; but Langholm could only stare. "I must see him," he exclaimed, decisively. "By the way, once more, do you happen to know whether Mrs. Steel got a letter from me this morning, Mrs. Woodgate?" "Yes, she did," answered Morna at once. Her manner declared her to be not unacquainted with the contents of the letter, and Langholm treated the declaration as though spoken. "And is she not going to see that poor fellow?" he asked. "At once," said Morna, "and I am going with her. She is to call for me with the phaeton at three." "Do you know anything about him, Mrs. Woodgate?" "All." "Then I can only commend him to the sympathy which I know he has already. And I will talk to Mr. Steel while you are gone." The first sentence was almost mechanical. That matter was off Langholm's mind, and in a flash it was fully occupied with the prospect before himself. He lifted the peak of his cap, but, instead of remounting his bicycle, he wheeled it very slowly up the drive. The phaeton was at the door when Langholm also arrived, and Rachel herself ran out to greet him on the steps--tall and lissome, in a light-colored driving cloak down to her heels, and a charming hat--yet under it a face still years older than the one he wore in his heart, though no less beautiful in its distress. "I hardly dare ask you!" she gasped, her hand trembling in his. "Have you found out--anything at all?" "A little." And he opened his hand so that hers must drop. "Oh, but anything is better than nothing! Come in and tell me--quick!" "Bravo!" added an amused voice from the porch. It was Steel, spruce and serene as ever, a pink glow upon his mobile face, a pink flower in his reefer jacket, a jaunty Panama straw covering his white hairs, and buckskin shoes of kindred purity upon his small and well-shaped feet. Langholm greeted him in turn, only trusting that the tremors which had been instantly communicated to his own right hand might not be detected by the one it was now compelled to meet. "I came to tell Mr. Steel," said Langholm, a little lamely. "Excellent!" murmured that gentleman, with his self-complacent smile. "But am I not to hear also?" demanded Rachel. "My dear Mrs. Steel, there is very little to tell you as yet. I only wish there were more. But one or two little points there are--if you would not mind my first mentioning them to your husband?" "Oh, of course." There was no pique in the tone. There was only disappointment--and despair. "You manage a woman very prettily," remarked Steel, as they watched the phaeton diminish down the drive like a narrow Roman road. "You are the first who ever said so," rejoined the novelist, with a rather heavy sigh.