Only after he had gone did it flash upon her that she had not put to him the vital question--what had Padgate to do with his disbelief in Morland? As is the way with people pondering over conundrums, the ridiculously simple solution did not occur to her. She spent many days in profitless speculation. Weever prophesied that the marriage would not take place. When pressed for a reason, he brought in the name of Jimmie Padgate. Obviously the latter was to stand between Morland and herself. But in what capacity? As a lover? Had Weever rightly interpreted her insane act on the day of the garden-party, and assumed that she was still in love with the detested creature? The thought made her grow hot and cold from head to foot. Why was he an idiot? Because he did not take advantage of her public confession? or was it because he stood in Weever's eyes as a wronged and heroic man? This in the depths of her heart she had been yearning for months to believe. Connie Deering almost believed it. About the facts once so brutally plain, so vulgarly devoid of mystery, a mysterious cloud had gathered and was thickening with time. Reflection brought assurance that Theodore Weever regarded Jimmie as innocent; and if ever a man viewed human affairs in the dry, relentless light of reason, it was the inscrutable, bloodless American. His offer of marriage she put aside from her thoughts. Morland was the irrevocably accepted. It was February. Easter falling early, the wedding would take place in a little over a month. In a cold, dispassionate way, she interested herself in the usual preparations. Peace reigned in Devonshire Place. And yet Norma despised herself, feeling the degradation of the woman who sells her body. During the session she saw little of Morland. For this she thanked God, the duchess, and the electors of Cosford. The sense of freedom caused her to repent of her contemptuous attitude towards his political aspirations. To encourage and foster them would be to her very great advantage. She adopted this policy, much to the edification of Morland, who felt the strengthening of a common bond of interest. He regularly balloted for seats in the Ladies' Gallery, and condemned her to sit for hours behind the grating and listen to uninspiring debates. He came to her with the gossip of the lobbies. He made plans for their future life together. They would make politics a feature of their house. It would be a rallying-place for the new Tory wing, in which Morland after a dinner at the Carlton Club when his health was proposed in flattering terms, had found himself enlisted. Norma was to bring back the glories of the _salon_. “When it gets too thick,” he said once laughingly, ashamed of these wanderings into the ideal, “we can go off into the country and shoot and have some decent people down and amuse ourselves rationally.”