They sat silent then, watching him for a few moments. He stood leaning his arm on the mantel-piece, his brows knit but a smile lingering on his lips. He was seeing the scene again, the scene in which he was to tell Cecily. He knew what the end of it would be. They were strangers now. The scene would leave them strangers still. Still Mina Zabriska would be left to cry, "You Tristrams!" Given that they were Tristrams, no other result was possible. They had been through what Mr. Neeld called practically the same experience already; in that very room it had happened. Suddenly the two men saw a light born in Harry's eyes; his brow grew smooth, the smile on his lips wider. He gave a moment's more consideration to the new thing. Then he raised his head and spoke to Wilmot Edge. "There are a good many complications in this matter, Colonel Edge. I've had my life upset once before, and I assure you it's rather troublesome work. It wants a little time and a little thinking. You get rather confused--always changing your train, you know. I have work on hand--plans and so forth. And, as you say, of course there's the lady too." He laughed as he ended by borrowing Neeld's phrase. "I can understand all that, Lord Tristram." "Do you mind saying Mr. Tristram? Saying Mr. Tristram to me and to everybody for the present? It won't be for long; a week perhaps." "You mean, keep the change in the position a secret?" Edge seemed rather startled. "You've kept the secret for many years, Colonel. Shall we say a week more? And you too, Mr. Neeld? Nothing at all to the people at Blentmouth? Shall we keep Miss S. in the dark for a week more?" The thought of Miss Swinkerton carried obvious amusement with it. "You mean to choose your opportunity with--with your cousin?" Neeld asked. "Yes, exactly--to choose my opportunity. You see the difficult character of the situation? I ask your absolute silence for a week." "Really I----" Old Neeld hesitated a little. "These concealments lead to such complications," he complained. He was thinking, no doubt, of the Iver engagement and the predicament in which it had landed him. "I don't ask it on my own account. There's my cousin." "Yes, yes, Neeld, there's the lady too." "Well, Edge, if you're satisfied, I can't stand out. For a week then--silence." "Absolute!" said Harry. "Without a look or a word?" "You have my promise," said Wilmot Edge. "And mine. But--but I shall feel very awkward," sighed poor Mr Neeld. He might have added that he did feel a sudden and poignant pang of disappointment. Lived there the man who would not have liked to carry that bit of news in his portmanteau when he went out of town? At least that man was not Mr Jenkinson Neeld. "I'll choose my time, and I won't keep you long," said Harry. With that they left him. But they had a word together before Edge caught his 'bus in Piccadilly. "Cool young chap!" said he. "Took it quietly enough."