In the grey dawn of the following morning Cyril was already up and dressed. The first thing he did was to detach two of the labels affixed to his box and place them carefully in his pocketbook. That accomplished, he had to wait with what patience he could muster until Peter returned with Campbell's reply. Cyril perused it eagerly. It was evidently satisfactory, for he heaved a sigh of relief as he sat down to breakfast. His eyes, however, never left the clock and it had hardly finished striking nine before our hero was out of the house. No suspicious person was in sight, but Cyril, was determined to take no chances. He therefore walked quickly ahead, then turned so abruptly that he would necessarily have surprised any one who was following him. This he did many times till he reached Piccadilly Circus, where, with a last look behind him, he bolted into a shop. There he asked for a small travelling box suitable for a lady. Having chosen one, he took his labels out of his pocket. "Have these pasted on the box," he ordered. The man's face expressed such amazement that Cyril hastened to remark that the box was intended for a bride who did not wish to be identified as such by the newness of her baggage. A comprehending and sympathetic smile proved that the explanation was satisfactory. A few minutes later Cyril drove off with his new acquisition. The next purchase was a handsomely-fitted lady's dressing-bag, which he took to Trufitt's and filled with such toilet accessories as a much-befrizzled young person designated as indispensable to a lady's comfort. On leaving there he stopped for a moment at his bank. Cyril now metaphorically girded his loins and summoning up all his courage, plunged into a shop in Bond Street, where he remembered his mother used to get what she vaguely termed "her things." Among the maze of frou-frous he stood in helpless bewilderment, till an obsequious floor-walker came to his rescue. Cyril explained that he had a box outside which he wanted to fill then and there with a complete outfit for a young lady. To his relief the man showed no surprise at so unusual a request and he was soon ensconced in the blessed seclusion of a fitting room. There the box was hurriedly packed with a varied assortment of apparel, which he devoutly prayed would meet with Priscilla's approval. It was not half-past eleven. The doctor must have left the nursing home by this time, thought Cyril. Not wishing to attract attention by driving up to the door, he told the chauffeur to stop when they were still at some distance away from it. There he got out and looked anxiously about him. To his relief he recognised Campbell's crimson pate hovering in the distance. So far, thought Cyril triumphantly, there had been no hitch in his carefully-laid plans.