Barring the matter of the immediate announcement then, Miss S. was justified. Janie had done the obviously right thing--and was obviously not quite sure that it was right. That mattered very little; it was done. It was for Mina Zabriska--and others concerned--to adapt themselves and conform their actions to the accomplished fact. But would Major Duplay take that view? To Mina was intrusted the delicate task of breaking the news to her uncle. It is the virtue of a soldier not to know when he is beaten; of a general not to let others know. To what standard of martial conduct would the Major adhere? This matter of the Major was in every way a nuisance to his niece. In the first place she wanted to think about herself and her own feelings--the one luxury of the unhappy. Secondly she was afraid again. For Harry suddenly seemed to be no protection now, and the horrors threatened by Duplay--the interrogation, the lawyer's office, and the like--recovered their dreadfulness. It had been easy--perhaps pleasant--to suffer for the confidential friend who had opened his heart to her on the hillside. It became less easy and certainly more unpleasant to be sacrificed for Janie Iver's _fiancé_. But Mina, though no longer exultant and no more fearless, would be loyal and constant all the same. Should she, after saving others, be herself a castaway? She experienced a longing for the sympathy and support of Mr Jenkinson Neeld. Surely he would stand firm too? He was still at Fairholme. Was he included in Janie's "own people"? Had he been told the news? The delicate task! The Imp's temper was far too bad for delicacy; she found a positive pleasure in outraging it. She took her letter, marched into the smoking-room, and threw it to (not to say at) her uncle. "Read that!" she said and strode off to the window to have a look at Blent. The letter had succeeded, it seemed, in taking away from her life all she wanted, and introducing into it all she did not. "This is very serious," declared the Major solemnly, "very serious indeed, Mina." "Don't see how," snapped the Imp, presenting an unwavering back-view to her uncle. "If they like to get married, why is it serious?" "Pray be reasonable," he urged. "You must perceive that the situation I have always contemplated----" "Well, you can go on contemplating it, can't you, uncle? It won't do much good, but still----" "The situation, I say, has arisen." She heard him get up, walk to the hearth-rug, and strike a match. Of course he was going to have a cigarette! He would smoke it all through with exasperating slowness and then arrive at an odious conclusion. Mina had not been married for nothing; she knew men's ways. He justified her forecast; it was minutes before he spoke again. "The terms of this letter," he resumed at last, "fortify me in my purpose. It is evident that Miss Iver is influenced--largely influenced--by--er--the supposed position of--er--Mr Tristram." "Of who?" "Of the present possessor of Blent."