"I quite understand," said Cynthia in her iciest manner. "I am not at all hurt or offended. You mustn't think that, Mr. Devenish," she bowed to him distantly and sailed off with great dignity. But she had humor enough to appreciate her discomfiture, and, even as she turned her back, her lips were twitching into a smile which she did not mean him to see. But ten minutes later in another of the rooms she came face to face with him again. He looked at her whimsically, and with a blush and a laugh she made friends with him again. "Tell me," he said. "Your husband refused the post with decision after the merest pause for thought, though the offer surprised him. I know that. Was he troubled about his decision afterward?" "Not at all," said Cynthia. "He slept perfectly; he ate his dinner with absolute contentment." "Now I am afraid of him," said Mr. Devenish gravely, and he added a shrewd saying to explain his fear. "Here's the great difference which makes art and politics incompatible. The men who succeed in politics are the men who don't worry. The men who succeed in art are the men who do. Yes, I am afraid of him now, and if I hit hard, Mrs. Rames, bear me no grudge. I shall hit hard because I must." Cynthia's heart warmed to him. She laughed joyously. "I'll bear no grudge, Mr. Devenish." "By the way, why isn't he here to-night? He ought to be." "He was here," Cynthia replied. "But a telephone message was brought to him. Some one had called at our house who was urgent to see him. So he went home." Mr. Devenish saw Cynthia into her carriage and she drove back to Curzon Street. The visitor was still with Harry Rames in his study when she reached home. As she went up to her room she heard his voice through the door, and once she waked up from her sleep and in the small hours she again heard his voice. He was in the hall taking his leave of Harry Rames. Cynthia switched on the light and looked at her watch. It was three o'clock in the morning. Drowsily she asked herself who this visitor could be, but she was asleep again almost before the question was formulated in her mind. CHAPTER XXVIII WIRELESS Harry Rames, however, told her who it was the next morning as they sat at breakfast. He had come down late and Cynthia looked at him with anxious eyes. "You were kept late in your study?" she said, thinking of the critical week which lay in front of him. "Yes." Harry Rames laid down his Sunday newspaper. "Walter Hemming was here." "Hemming?" To Cynthia the name was quite unfamiliar. There had been no Walter Hemming at Bramling. "He was one of my officers on the _Perhaps_. He has got together some money, has bought the old ship and is off to the South." "He takes up your work?" "Yes. I never saw a man so enthusiastic. Suppose he reaches the Pole, what then?" Harry Rames laughed contemptuously.