Baltazar laughed. “You’re young. Stick to it. I’ve had as much as is good for me at my time of life. I’m going to end my days, thank God, in delightful lack of restraint. I’m going to let myself go, my friend, over this new job, like a runaway horse. At last I’ve bullied them into giving me a free hand. It’s a change from a year ago, isn’t it?” “I agree that the change has been most beneficent,” said Quong Ho. “Yes, by Jove!” cried Baltazar. “Then we were just a couple of grubby bookworms doing nothing for ourselves or our fellow-creatures. Now—here you are dealing with thoughts that shake the world; and I—by Jove!—one of the leading men in England. I should like to see the bomb that would knock us out this time.” He hitched up his shirt-cuffs and plunged again into his article. He had scarcely written a sentence, when the door opened and Marcelle appeared on the threshold. He pushed back his chair and rose, and advanced to her with both hands outstretched. “Hello! Hello! What has blown you in at this time of day?” She looked up at him as she took his hand, and he saw there was trouble in her eyes. “I know I’m disturbing you, but I can’t help it,” she said quickly. “I must speak to you.” “Perhaps you would like to speak with Mr. Baltazar in private,” said Quong Ho. “Indeed I should, Mr. Ho. Please forgive me.” Quong Ho bowed and retired. Baltazar drew a chair for her. “Now what’s wrong, my dear?” “Godfrey.” “My God!” he cried. “Not an accident? He’s not hurt?” “Oh no, no! Nothing of that sort.” She smiled in wan reassurance. Baltazar breathed relief. “I believe if anything happened to him now, it would break me,” he said. “He came round to see me an hour or so ago.” “After he left here. To tell you of his appointment. Aren’t you glad?” “Of course I am. But I should be more glad if that had been all.” “What’s up?” he asked, frowning. “Tell me straight.” “Ought I to tell you?” she asked rather piteously. “It’s betraying his confidence shamefully. I know I’m to blame. I ought never to have given him my promise. But I can’t see him go and ruin everything without making some sacrifice.” “My dearest Marcelle, you’re talking in riddles. For Heaven’s sake give me the word of the enigma.” “It’s Lady Edna Donnithorpe.” “Well. What about her?” “I wish he had never set eyes on the woman,” she cried passionately. “If he’s in love with her, he’ll have to get over it,” said Baltazar. “France will cure him. And, as I told you the other evening, the lady’s perfectly callous. So my dear, go along and don’t worry.” “You don’t seem to understand me, John dear,” she said urgently. “The woman is in love with him. It has been going on for months. He has told me all about it. She gets up and goes out driving with him in the car at eight o’clock in the morning.” “Silly woman!” growled Baltazar.