“Only last week, from the tenant opposite. She did not know I was your sister, and said something about Doris having two young men, and one of them was a South African millionaire.” He made no comment, but continued his aimless walk. “What about Ethel and Basil?” she could not help asking. “They are terribly upset. As soon as I had been shown the letter I went out to make inquiries. Ethel could not rest for fear everything was not square. She wanted to go off after her at once. But it’s all correct. I saw the Registrar. They were properly married, and they left for Dover at eleven, bound for Paris.” “What in the world will become of Basil?” He winced visibly. Doris’s flagrant selfishness to Basil hurt almost more than her faithlessness to himself. “She stated in the letter that her husband was allowing her a thousand a year for herself, and she was prepared to pay a housekeeper to look after Basil and the flat.” “Little beast,” Hal breathed under her breath. “What are they going to do?” she said aloud. “The tenant opposite insists upon taking Doris’s place. She was sitting with him when Ethel got home, and the letter arrived about the same time. Nothing else will satisfy her. She is going to be with him all day, and only teach in the evenings after Ethel has got back.” “How splendid of her!” involuntarily. “She hardly seems the kind of person Basil would like, but he appeared quite pleased. It may have been a little quixotism. All he said was: “What in the world should we have done without you, G; and there! only a few weeks ago you were wishing you had not been born.” “How like Basil. All gratitude and understanding as usual. But it must have hit him rather hard, Dudley. Is he all right?” “I don’t know.” The gloom on Dudley’s face deepened. “I thought he looked very ill, but I could not get Ethel to say much. She seemed rather to avoid me. I don’t think she likes me.” Hal was conscious of a little inward smile of gladness. She had guessed Ethel’s secret long enough ago, and she knew the power of uncertainty and a little thwarting. Dudley would naturally try to break down Ethel’s dislike; and perhaps in doing so he would grow to know her better. “I think I must try and get up tomorrow,” was all she said. “Ethel is so reserved. She will get ill herself if she broods and frets on the top of all her work and anxiety.” “Will you?” he asked, with some eagerness. “Basil loves to see you; and if he is really worse, I shall get Sir John Maitland to go up and see him again.” “Of course I’ll go. We may be able to help them between us.” She was just going away upstairs to bed, when the forlorness of Dudley’s attitude, and the thought of her own sore heart before Dick comforted her, made her lay down her hat again and cross the room to him. “Dudley, don’t forget you’ve got me still. I know I’m very trying sometimes, but I love you so much more than Doris ever could have.”