Her meditations were cut short by the arrival of a telegraph boy on his bicycle at the front gate. He gave her the telegram. It was for Austin. Her heart beat. She went into the house with the yellow envelope containing Dick's destiny and mounted to the little room off the first landing which had been Austin's private study since his boyhood. She knocked. Austin's voice bade her enter. He rose from the desk where, pen in hand, he had been sitting before a blank sheet of paper, and without a word took the telegram. She noticed with a shock that he had curiously changed. The quick, brisk manner had gone. His face was grey. "It is _the_ telegram, isn't it?" she asked eagerly. "Yes," said he, handing it to her. "It's from Lord Overton." She read: "The very man. Send him along to me early to-morrow. Hope he can start immediately." "Oh, how splendid!" she exclaimed with a little gasp of happiness. "How utterly splendid! Thank heaven!" "Yes. Thank heaven," Austin acquiesced gravely. "I forgot to mention to you that Lord Overton knows Dick personally," he added, after a pause. "They met at my house the last time Dick was in London." "This _is_ good news," said Viviette. "At last I can give him a birthday present worth having." "He will not be here for his birthday," said Austin, in cold, even tones. "He must catch the mail to-night." Viviette echoed: "To-night?" "And in all probability he will sail for Vancouver in a day or two. It won't be worth his while to come back here." She laid a hand on her heart, which fluttered painfully. "Then--then--we'll never see him again?" "Probably not." "I didn't think it would be so sudden," she said, a little wildly. "Neither did I. But it's for the best." "But supposing he wants some time to look about him?" "I'll see to everything," said Austin. "Anyhow, I must be the first to tell him," said Viviette. "You will do me a very great favour if you will let me have that privilege," said Austin. "I make a particular point of it. I have some serious business to discuss with him before dinner, and that will be the time for me to break the news." He was no longer the fairy godmother's devoted and humble factotum. He spoke with a cold air of authority that chilled the fairy godmotherdom in Viviette's bosom. Her prettly little scheme dwindled into childishness before the dark, incomprehended thing that had happened. She assented with unusual meekness. "But I'm desperately disappointed," she said. "My dear Viviette," he answered more kindly, and looking at her with some wistfulness, "the pleasures and even the joy of life have to give way to the sober, business side of existence. It isn't very gay, I know, but we can't alter it."