The next morning he rose earlier than usual, and sought Morland at his house in Sussex Gardens. He found him eating an untroubled breakfast. Silver dishes, tray, and service were before him. A great flower-stand filled with Maréchal Niel roses stood in the centre of the table. Fine pictures hung round the walls. Rare china, old oak chairs, and sideboard bright with silver bowls--all the harmonious and soothing luxury of a rich man's dining-room, gave the impression of ease, of a life apart from petty cares, petty vices, petty ambitions. A thick carpet sheltered the ears from the creaking footsteps of indiscretion. Awnings before the open windows screened the too impertinent light of the morning sun. And the face and bearing of the owner of the room were in harmony with its atmosphere. Jimmie reproached himself for the doubts that had caused his visit. Morland laughed at them. Had he not twice or thrice declared himself not a beast? Surely Jimmie must trust his oldest friend to have conducted himself honourably. There was never question of marriage. There had been no seduction. Could n't he understand? They had parted amicably some three months ago, each a little disillusioned. Morland was generous enough to strip a man's vanity from himself and stand confessed as one of whom a superior woman had grown tired. The new development of the affair revealed yesterday had, he repeated, come upon him like an unexpected lash. The irony of it, too, in the first flush of his engagement! Naturally he was remorseful; naturally he would do all that a man of honour could under the circumstances. “More is not expected and not wanted. On my word of honour,” said Morland. He had been upset, he continued smilingly. The consequences might be serious--to himself, not so much to Jenny. There were complications in the matter that might be tightened--not by Jenny--into a devil of a tangle. Had he not pleaded special urgency when he had first asked Jimmie to take in the letters under a false name? It might be a devil of a tangle, he repeated. “But till that happens--and please God it may never happen--we may dismiss the whole thing from our minds,” said Morland, reassuringly. “Jenny will want for nothing, and want nothing. Do you think if there were any melodramatic villainy on my conscience I would go and engage myself to marry Norma Hardacre?” This was the final argument that sent the black care, desperately clinging with the points of its claws, into infinite space. Jimmie smiled again. Morland waved away the uncongenial topic and called for a small bottle of champagne on ice. A glass apiece, he said, to toast the engagement. Rightly, champagne was the wine of the morning. “It is the morning sunshine itself distilled,” said Jimmie, lifting up his glass.