Probably Lord Moone had less to do than he supposed with the separation that took place in the September of the same year. We may assume that a much more potent factor was the Honourable Mrs. Causton's remembrance of her own words, "That I should have to beg a man to marry me! I hate myself--I hate you!" She did very soon hate both herself and him. Poor Buck merely hated the whole subversive anomaly. He accepted the proposal that they should separate with perfect docility. It seemed to him entirely right. Indeed the only thing he had not accepted with docility had been his introduction to Lord Moone, on the only occasion on which the two men ever met, as "Mr. Buckley, the drawing-master." Buck hadn't liked that much. He had made himself Buck Causton in nine hours of terrific combat, and as Buck Causton he preferred to be known. But all else he suffered with touching obedience, and at the proposal that they should go their several ways his finger flew to his forehead. "Yes, miss," he said; and his heart, if not his lips, murmured the prayer that begins: "God bless the Squire and his relations----" They parted. They only met once more. This was in the January of the following year, in the great antlered hall at Mallard Bois, that was as regularly used on all occasions as if there had not been salons and galleries and drawing-rooms in a dozen other parts of the great place. The Honourable Mrs. Causton lay on a couch drawn up to the fire-dogs; her husband looked submissively down on her, dwarfing the suit of armour of Big Hugo by which he stood. She made a new proposal. It was that he should put it into her hands to set herself free once for all. "Yes, miss," said Buck. * * * * * "Then," said the Honourable Mrs. Causton a quarter of an hour later, "there's the question of cruelty." Buck's thoughts wandered slowly back to the Piker. "Yes, miss," he said. "I need hardly tell you that as far as--er--procedure--can be stretched it will be stretched." "Yes, miss. Thank you, miss." Then wistfully Buck's eyes wandered from Big Hugo's suit of armour to his wife's face again. "Beg your pardon, about that cruelty, miss," he said unhappily. "Couldn't I go down--just for once, Miss--as Mr. Buckley?" "No; but I can assure you that _I_ don't want this talked about more than must be either. Perhaps I ought to tell you that I shall probably marry again." Buck's finger went to his forehead again, this time in a duty to his successor. Then his eyes grew grave. His wife had made a slight movement. "If I might make so bold, miss--there's another thing----" She knew what he meant. "You've nothing to do with that," she said quickly. Buck would have thought that he had, but if a lady said he hadn't, well, he hadn't, that was all. "Yes, miss.... And asking your pardon again--about that cruelty?" "Oh, that's over," said Mrs. Causton, closing her eyes. "Six months ago."