"I don't know," he said.

But she clung to him more closely. "You do know, dear! You do know!"

And then Nick did a strange, impulsive thing. He suddenly flung down his reserve and bared to her his inmost soul.

"Yes, Olga mia, I do know," he said. "I would have done the same for you. I nearly did the same for Muriel when we were in a tight corner long ago at Wara. But whether it's right or whether it's wrong, God alone can judge. It may be we take too much upon us, or it may be He means us to do it. That is what I have never yet decided. But I solemnly believe with you that love makes all the difference. Love is the one extenuating circumstance which He will recognize and pass. It isn't the outward appearance that counts. It's just the heart of things."

He stopped. Olga was listening with earnest attention, her pale face rapt. For a moment, as he ceased to speak, their eyes met, and between them there ran the old electric current of sympathy, re-connected and entire.

"Oh, Nick," she said, "you never fail me! You always understand!"

But Nick shook his head in whimsical denial. "No, not always, believe me,—being but a man. But I've learnt to hide my ignorance by taking the difficult bits for granted. For instance, I didn't expect you to take this thing so sensibly. If I had, I should have acted very differently long ago."

"Do you call me sensible, Nick?" she said, with a wistful smile.

"Not in all respects, dear," said Nick. "But you have shown more sense than I expected on this occasion."

"Did you expect me to be very badly upset?" she asked. "Nick, shall I tell you something? You'll think me fanciful perhaps. Yet I don't know. Very likely you will understand. I've had a feeling for such a long, long time that she—that Violet—was calling to me, and I could never hear what she wanted to say. To-day—at last—I have been in touch with her, and I know that all is well." She turned her face up to the sun again, speaking with closed eyes. "I know that she is safe. I know that she is happy. And—Nick—Nick—" her voice thrilled on the words—"I know that she loves me still."

Nick bared his head with reverence. His face was strangely moved, but the restless eyes were steadfast as he made reply: "That, dear, is just the Omnipotence of Love. You can't explain it. It's too great a thing to grasp. You can only feel the pull of the everlasting Chain that binds us to those beyond."

"It is wonderful," she whispered, "wonderful!"

"It is Divine," said Nick.



CHAPTER XXVIII

A SOLDIER AND A GENTLEMAN

When Nick returned to Redlands, he was alone. Olga had gone down again to the shore. She wanted to be by herself a little longer, she said. He didn't mind? No, Nick minded nothing, so long as all went well with her; and, on her promise that all should be well, he left her with Cork for guardian.

He went back to Redlands over the cliffs, entering his own grounds by a low wire fence, and thence turning inwards towards the garden. The sounds of gay voices reached him as he approached, and he speedily found himself caught in a lively ambush that consisted of Peggy, Reggie, and Noel. He naturally fled for his life, but was overtaken by the latter and held down while the two accomplices rifled his pockets. By the rules of the game all coppers found therein were confiscated, and this regulation having been duly observed, the prisoner was allowed to sit up and converse with his principal captor while the rest of the gang divided the spoils.

"Have a cigarette?" said Noel.

"Thanks! Mighty generous of you!" Nick righted his tumbled attire and accepted the proffered weed. "If it isn't a rude question, what are you doing here?"

Noel's eyes laughed across at him gaily through the blue spectacles. "I should have thought you might have guessed that I'm spending a night or two with the Musgraves, but I am under a solemn oath to return to Max by noon on Friday in order to have another dose of some infernal stuff with which he is peppering my eyes. He didn't much want me to come away, as it meant postponing the torture for a few hours. But I managed to get on the soft side of him for once, though he is holding himself in preparation for an immediate summons in case my vision should take advantage of my absence from him to play any nasty tricks."

"I see," said Nick. "And how is the vision?"

"Oh, all right, so far as it goes. Gives me beans upon occasion, for which Max always swears at me as if it were my fault. I'm not allowed to see by artificial light at all, so after sunset I join the bats. Lucky for me the sun sits up late just now. By the way, I had a positively gushing epistle from old Badgers this morning. He seems almost hysterical at the thought of getting me back again; says that married or single, I've got to go." Noel stopped to take in a long breath of smoke; then, very abruptly, "Where's Olga?" he demanded.

Nick nodded in the direction whence he had come. "Down on the shore."

Noel was on his feet in a second. "All right. You can be nurse for a bit now. See you later!"

He would have swung away with the words, but Nick had also risen, and with a swift word he detained him. "I say, Noel!"

Noel stopped. "Hullo!"

"Look here!" said Nick rapidly. "She isn't wanting anyone just yet. We have just been to the Priory, she and I—in accordance with Sir Kersley's advice, of which I told you. She is having a quiet think. Don't disturb her!"

Noel stood still. He had stiffened somewhat at the words, but there was no dismay discernible about him. He faced that which had to be faced without flinching.

"You mean she knows?" he asked slowly.

"Yes," said Nick. "But I didn't tell her."

"Did she remember, then?"

"Yes. It all came back to her."

"What effect did it have? Was she—is she very badly upset?" The sharp falter in the words betrayed more than the speaker knew.

Nick turned away from him, grinding his heel into the turf. "No. She took it remarkably quietly on the whole—seemed relieved to know the truth."

"And Max—did she mention him?"

"Yes. She seemed glad to know that he was not responsible, but rather hurt that he had thought it necessary to concoct a lie for her benefit."

"Exactly what I should have felt myself," said Noel. He paused a moment; then: "It was decent of you to let me into that secret," he observed.

"Oh, that was Sir Kersley's doing." Nick still spoke with his back half-turned. "He tackled me on the subject, said you ought to know, but that Max was averse to it. Then I told him why. It seems that he hadn't the vaguest notion till then as to why the engagement was broken off."

Noel nodded. "Just like Max! He's a bit too clever sometimes. Well, what did he say when he knew?"

"He said that if Max wouldn't take the responsibility of setting matters right, he would. And he advised me to tell you everything straight away; which I did," said Nick, "at peril of my life. I don't know how Max will take it, but it will doubtless be on my devoted head that his wrath will descend."

"You'll survive that," said Noel. "But look here! Tell me more about Olga! Wasn't she horribly shocked—just at first?"

"It was touch and go," said Nick. "I followed Sir Kersley's advice throughout. He didn't want me to tell her outright, and I didn't. The whole thing came to her gradually. Yes, it was a bit of a strain to begin with. But she has come through it all right. Give her time to settle, and I don't think she will be any the worse."

"I see," said Noel. He relaxed very suddenly, and passed a boyishly familiar arm around Nick's shoulders. "Well, that cooks my goose, quite effectually, doesn't it? Lucky it's come to me gradually too. I shouldn't have relished it all in a lump. The only person who is going to have a shock over this little business is Max. And you'll admit he deserves one."

"What are you going to do?" asked Nick.

"Do? Send him a wire of course."

"Who? Max?"

"Yes, Max. And I shall say, 'Come at once. Urgent. Noel.' That'll fetch him," said Noel with a twinkle. "He's making a speciality of me just now. He ought to be here before eight."

"And what about Olga?"

"Leave Olga to me!" said Noel.

Nick glanced up at him, and abruptly did so. "You're a sportsman, my son," he observed affectionately. "But to return to Max, doesn't it occur to you that it may not be precisely convenient for him to come posting down here at a moment's notice? He's an important man, remember."

But Noel here displayed a touch of his old imperious spirit. "Who the devil cares for Max?" he demanded. "He's just got to come; and if he doesn't like it, he can go hang. Surely a fellow may be permitted to settle who is to be asked to his own funeral!"

"Oh, if you put it like that—" said Nick.

"Well, it is like that; see?" There was a comic touch to Noel's tragedy notwithstanding, and Nick divined with a satisfaction that he was careful to conceal that the role he had taken upon himself was not altogether distasteful to him. The funeral arrangements obviously had their attractive side.

"Well, my boy, fix it up as you think best!" he said, giving him as ample a squeeze as his one arm could compass. "You're a soldier and a gentleman, and whatever you do will have my full approval."

"What ho!" said Noel, highly gratified.

They parted then, going their several ways. Noel to send his message, Nick in pursuit of the two children. And so the rest of the afternoon wore away.

Muriel had tea laid in the old oak-panelled dining-room, and thither Nick presently marshalled his charges, to find his wife serenely waiting for them in solitude.

"Hasn't Olga come in yet?" he asked.

"Yes, dear, some time ago. But she looked so tired, poor child!" said Muriel. "I persuaded her to go up to her room and lie down. She has had some tea."

"She will be all right?" asked Nick quickly.

"I think so. She looks quite worn out. She seems to need a sleep more than anything," said Muriel.

He gave her a quick look. "You saw Noel?"

"Yes. He came in and talked for a few minutes after he left you. He seems a very nice boy." A faint smile touched Muriel's lips.

Nick laughed, pulling her hand round his neck as she brought him his tea. "Lost your heart to him, eh? It's quite the usual thing to do. Where has he gone?"

"He came over in Jim's motor, and has gone away in it again. He didn't say where he was going."

"Gone away without me!" ejaculated Peggy in consternation.

"He'll come back again, my chicken. Don't you worry!" said Nick. "Here! Have a jam sandwich!"

"I want Noel," said Peggy. "Where is Noel?"

"He has gone out on business," said Nick. "Which reminds me," he added to Muriel. "His brother Max will probably be here this evening to spend the night."

"Max!"

"Yes. Don't mention it upstairs! Noel is pulling the wires, so be prepared for anything."

"What wires is Noel pullin'?" Peggy wanted to know.

"Telegraph wires," said Reggie brightly.

"Yes, telegraph wires," chuckled Nick. "I think I'll just go up for a second, Muriel. I shan't wake her up if she's asleep."

He was gone with the words, swift and noiseless as a bird on the wing, and five seconds later was scratching very softly at Olga's door.

Her voice bade him enter immediately, and he went in.

She was lying on her bed, but the blind was up and the windows wide. She held out her arms to him.

"Nick—darling!"

"Ever yours to command!" said Nick. He went to her, stooping while the arms wound round his neck.

She held him tightly. "Nick," she whispered, "is Noel still here?"

"No, darling. Do you want him?"

She drew a sharp breath. "I—I'm afraid I—dodged him a little while ago. I simply couldn't meet him just then. Has he been looking for me? Did he wonder where I was?"

"Don't think so," said Nick. "He was playing with the kids. He is spending a couple of nights with the Musgraves, and he brought Peggy over."

"And he has gone again?" Faint wonder sounded in her voice.

"Only temporarily. He wanted to send a message to someone from the post-office; but he is coming back—presumably—for Peggy."

"I see." She was silent for a few moments, and Nick sat down on the edge of the bed. "Nick," she said at length, speaking with obvious effort, "will he—will he be very hurt, do you think, if—if I don't see him to-day?"

"Shouldn't say so, darling," said Nick.

She slipped her hand into his. "I've got to do a lot of thinking, Nick," she said rather piteously.

"Can I help?" said Nick.

She shook her head with a quivering smile. "No, dear. It's a—it's a one-man job. But, if you don't mind, tell Noel I'm rather tired, but I'll come over to Weir in the morning. I'm going to tell him everything," she ended, squeezing his hand very tightly.

"Quite right, dear," said Nick.

"Yes, but—before I tell him—I want to—to write to Max." Olga's voice was very low. "I must put things right with him first. I must ask him to forgive me."

"Forgive you, sweetheart!"

"Yes, for—for being very unkind to him." Olga's lips quivered again, and suddenly her eyes were full of tears. "I feel as if—as if I've been running into things in the dark, and doing a lot of harm," she said. "Of course everything is quite over—quite over—between us. He will understand that. But I want—I want to be friends with him—if—he—will let me. Nick dear, that's all. Hadn't you better go and have your tea?"

"And leave you to weep?" said Nick, with his face screwed up. "No, I don't think so."

"I'm not going to," she assured him. "I'm going to be—awfully sensible. Really I am. Kiss me, Nick darling, and go!"

He bent over her. "You mustn't cry," he urged pathetically.

She clasped him close. "No, I won't! I won't! Nick—dearest, you're the very sweetest man in the world. I always have thought so, and I always shall. There!"

"Ah, well, it's a comparatively harmless illusion," said Nick, with his quizzical grimace. "I'll endeavour to live up to it. Sure you want me to go?"

"Yes. You must go, dear. I'm sure Muriel is wanting you. I've monopolized you long enough. You—you'll tell Noel, won't you? Is he all right?"

"At the very top of his form," said Nick.

She smiled. "I'm so very glad. Give him my love, Nick, my—my best love."

"I will," said Nick. He stood up. "He's a fine chap—Noel," he said. "He deserves the best, and I hope—some day—he'll get it."

With which enigmatical remark, he wheeled and left her.



CHAPTER XXIX

THE MAN'S POINT OF VIEW

That letter to Max was perhaps the hardest task that Olga had ever undertaken. She spent the greater part of three hours over it, oblivious of everything else; and then, close upon the dinner-hour, tore up all previous efforts in despair and scribbled a brief, informal note that was curiously reminiscent of one she had written once in a moment of impulsive penitence and pinned inside his hat.

"Dear Max," it ran, "I want to tell you that everything has come back to me, and I am very, very sorry. Will you forgive me and let us be friends for the future? Yours, Olga."

This letter she addressed and stamped and took downstairs with her, laying it upon the hall-table to be posted. Thence she passed on to the library to find a book she wanted.

The glow of sunset met her on the threshold, staying the hand she raised to the electric switch. She moved slowly through the dying light to the window and stood before it motionless, gazing forth into the glory. It poured around her in a rosy splendour, lighting her pale, tired face. For several minutes she stood drinking in the beauty of it, with a feeling at her heart as of unshed tears.

Then at last with a long sigh she slowly turned, and moved across to a row of bookshelves. Perhaps there was light enough for her purpose after all. She began to search along the backs of the books with her face close to them.

"Are you looking for Farrow's Treatise on Party Government by any chance?" asked a leisurely voice behind her.

She sprang round as if a gun had been discharged in the room. She stared widely, feeling back against the bookshelves for support.

He was lounging on the edge of the table immediately facing her—a square strong figure, with hands in his pockets, the red light of the sunset turning his hair to fire.

"Because if you are," he continued, a note of grim humour in his voice, "I'm afraid you won't find it—to-night. What's the matter with you, fair lady? You don't seem quite pleased to see me."

"I am pleased," she whispered. "I am pleased."

But her voice was utterly gone. Her throat worked spasmodically. She put up both hands to it as if she were choking.

He stood up abruptly and came to her. He took her hands and drew them gently away. "I shall begin to think I'm bad for you if you do that," he said. "What's the matter, child? Did I frighten you?"

"No!" she whispered back. "No! It was only—only—"

"Only—" he said. "Look here! You mustn't cry. It's one better than fainting, I admit; but I'm not going to let you do either if I can help it. Come over here to the window!"

He led her unresisting, one steady arm upholding her.

"Do you know," he said, "a curious thing happened just now? I'd only been in the house twenty minutes or so when, coming downstairs to look for you, I discovered a letter in the hall addressed to me. I took the liberty of opening and reading it, in spite of the fact that it was plainly intended for the post." He paused. "I thought that would make you angry," he observed, looking down at her critically.

She uttered a desperate little laugh and tried to disengage herself from his arm. "No, I'm glad you've got it," she said rather breathlessly.

"It was a very silly letter," remarked Max, calmly frustrating the attempt. "It didn't say half it might have said, and what it did say wasn't to the point."

"Yes, it was," she maintained quickly. "It—it—I meant to say just that."

"Then all I can say is that you have quite missed the crux of the situation," said Max. "Why are you very, very sorry? Why do you want me to forgive you? And why in the name of wonder do you suggest that we should become friends when you know that we are so constituted as to be incapable of being anything but the dearest of enemies?"

He looked down again suddenly into her quivering, averted face. "Still I shall value that letter," he said, "if only as a sample of the sweet unreasonableness of women. Are you still very sorry, Olga?"

She moved at the utterance of her name, moved and made a more decided effort to free herself.

"Not a bit of good," said Max. "Don't you know I'm waiting for the kiss of peace?"

"I can't!" she protested swiftly. "I can't!"

"Can't what?" said Max.

Her lips were trembling, but she shed no tears. He seemed in some magic fashion to keep her from that.

"I can't kiss you, Max, really—really!" she said.

"Why not?" said Max.

She was silent, but he persisted, still holding her pressed to him.

"Tell me why not! Is it because you don't want to Or you think you ought not to? Or because you are just—shy?"

She caught the smile in his voice and pictured the cocked-up corner of his mouth. "I think I ought not to," she murmured, with her head still turned from him.

"Conscientious objections?" suggested Max.

"Don't laugh!" she whispered.

"My dear child, I'm as serious as a judge. What are the objections?"

"There is—Noel," she said.

"You will have to chuck Noel," said Max coolly.

That vitalized her very effectually; she turned on him with burning cheeks. "Max, how dare you—how dare you suggest such a thing!"

His eyes met hers, green and dominant. She saw again that old mocking gleam of conscious mastery with which he had been wont to exasperate her. He answered her with a directness almost brutal.

"Because you don't love him."

"I do love him!" she declared fiercely. "I do love him!"

"Better than me?" said Max.

She shrank visibly from the question. "I love him too well to throw him over," she said.

His lips twisted cynically. "That is curious," he said.

She winced again from that which he left unsaid. "Oh, Max, don't hurt me!" she pleaded. "Try—try to understand!"

It was an appeal for mercy. But Max would not hear. He took her by the shoulders, compelling her to face him. "So you really mean to marry Noel," he said. "Do you think you will be happy with him?"

"I could never be happy if I didn't," she answered rather incoherently.

Max frowned. "Look here!" he said. "It's no good expecting me to understand if you won't even answer my questions."

She quivered in his hold. "You ask such—impossible things," she said.

"They are only impossible," Max said relentlessly, "because you are afraid to tell me the truth. You are afraid to tell me that you are sacrificing yourself. You are afraid to be honest—even with yourself."

"I am not!" she protested fierily. "Max, you have no right——"

"I have a right." He broke in upon her sternly. "I have the first and foremost right. Remember, you were mine before you were his. You gave yourself to me because you loved me. You only threw me over because of a fancied unworthiness. Now I am cleared of that, do you think you owe me nothing more than an apology?"

"Oh, but, Max," she pleaded, "think of Noel! Think of Noel!"

"Well?" said Max, "then think of him! Don't you think he can make a better bargain for himself than marriage with a woman who doesn't love him best? Why, nearly every woman he meets falls in love with him, and could offer him more than you do. You women who are so keen on sacrificing yourselves never look at the man's point of view, and so the only thing he really wants, you make it impossible for him to get."

"Max! Max!" she cried in distress.

"Well, isn't it so?" said Max. "Just admit that, and p'raps I won't bully you any more. You know he doesn't come first with you—and never would."

"But I could make him happy," she said.

"Oh, could you? And suppose his happiness depended upon yours? Suppose he were man enough to want you to be happy too? Could you do that for him?"

She hesitated.

He pressed on without mercy. "Could you drive me utterly out of your thoughts, your dreams? Could you stifle every regret, every secret longing? Could you empty your heart of me and put him in my place? Tell me! Could you?"

But she could not tell him. She only turned her face from him and wept.

He set her free then, just as he had set her free on that day long ago when her will had first bruised itself against the iron of his. He went away from her, went to the door as if he would leave her; then stood still, and after a space came back.

She trembled at his coming. She had a feeling that he had armed himself with another, stronger weapon to overcome her resistance.

He stopped in front of her. "Olga," he said, "have you thought about me at all?"

She made a sharp gesture—the involuntary wincing of the victim from the knife.

He went on, very quietly, as if he had not seen. "Do you think I'm going to be happy without you? I've got my career, haven't I, and all my brilliant successes? How much do you think they are worth to me? How far do you think they are going to satisfy me—make up for that which you have taken away?"

He paused, but she could not answer him, could not so much as lift her eyes to his.

He went on. "A little while ago you appealed to my love, and—I don't claim to be more than human—it stood the strain. I appealed to yours, and you sent me about my business. You had some excuse. I had deceived you. But this time—this time—are you going to do the same this time, Olga?"

"I can't help it!" she whispered through her tears.

He came nearer to her, but he did not touch her. "Is that the truth?" he said. "Don't you love me well enough? Is that it? Is my love so little to you that you can afford to throw it away? You know I love you, don't you? You believe in my love?" His voice suddenly vibrated; his hands clenched. "It's stood a good deal," he said. "But, by Heaven! I don't think it will stand this!"

She lifted her face suddenly. "Max, stop! I can't bear it!"

"Neither can I!" He flung back fiercely. "It's too much to ask—too much to give! Olga, you shall come to me! You shall! You shall!"

He caught her to him with the words, holding her mercilessly in a grip that was savage. She felt the hard, passionate beat of his heart against her own. And she gasped and gasped again, as one suddenly immersed in deep waters.

She did not resist him, for she could not. He had her a helpless captive before she could even begin. Perhaps she might not have done so in any case. It was a point she never was able to decide. But from the moment his lips met hers the battle was over. With or without her will her lips clung to his; the flame of his passion kindled an answering flame in her; and the love which she had striven so desperately to restrain leaped forth to him in wild, exultant freedom, so that she forgot all the world beside.

* * * * *

"So that's settled!" said Max a little later into the flushed face that lay against his shoulder. "It's taken a mighty long time to make you see reason."

"It isn't reason," said Olga faintly. "And oh, Max, what—what am I to say to Noel?"

Max's one-sided smile appeared. "I should just say, 'Thank you kindly, sir,' if it were me. There's nothing else left to say."

"Oh, but there is!" she protested.

"There isn't," said Max. "He is coming over to congratulate us to-morrow."

"Max!" She opened her eyes wide and lifted her head. "Max, you don't mean——"

"Yes, I do," said Max imperturbably. "Why do you suppose I came tearing down here to-night, leaving Kersley to kill all my patients as well as his own?"

"Not—surely—to see me?" said Olga, wonderingly.

He laughed grimly. "No. It was to see Noel. Odd how we both put him first, isn't it? The young cub sent me a message that brought me down post-haste, expecting to find him in a state of collapse. Instead of which I found him gaily awaiting me at the station to tell me he had run himself out—or some bosh of the kind—and it was now my innings, and I was to go in and win. On my soul, Olga, he was enjoying himself up to the hilt."

"But why didn't you tell me this before?" said Olga quickly.

Max's mouth went up a little higher. "Various reasons, fair lady."

"Don't be horrid!" she protested, giving him a shake. "And how did it happen? How did he come to know anything? I haven't seen him to-day. It must have been Nick!"

"Yes. I'm going to throttle Nick presently. I've often wanted to. After which I shall turn him into a mummy and send him to India to be worshipped as the little god of intrigue. I daresay he'll get on all right in that capacity. It ought to suit him down to the ground. He's a born meddler."

"How absurd you are!" Olga laughed in spite of herself. "Where is Nick? Don't you think we had better go and find him?"

It was at this point that the handle of the door was turned ostentatiously the wrong way, struggled with, sworn at, and finally put right.

"May I come in?" said Nick, briskly opening the door. "Muriel and I have finished dinner. We knew you wouldn't be wanting any."

"Nick!" Olga exclaimed. "I'm sure you haven't!"

"All right, we haven't," said Nick. "That is to say, we have saved you a little in case you were prosaic enough to want it. Max, my son, your presence here is an honour for which I have scarcely made fit preparation, but I am none the less proud to entertain you, and as your uncle-in-law elect I bid you welcome."

He held out his hand which Max took with a dry, "Thanks! One can't scrag a man under his own roof, I suppose, though it's a sore temptation."

"You will have ample opportunity in the future," Nick assured him genially, "though, as I think I told you long ago, I'm the most well-meaning little cuss that ever walked the earth. I threatened once to put a spoke in your wheel, didn't I? Well, I never did it. I've been pushing and straining to get it out of the bog ever since. And now I've done it, you want to scrag me. Olga, the man's a blood-thirsty scoundrel. If you have the smallest regard for my feelings, you will kick him out of the house at once."

But Olga was holding the two clasped hands in hers, and she would not let them part. "Nick, you're a darling—a darling! And Max knows it, don't you, Max? It was dear of you to make the wheels go round. They would never have done it without you, and we shall never, never forget it as long as we two shall live."

"Amen!" said Max.

"Bless your hearts!" said Nick benevolently. "Well, come and have something to eat!"

He turned towards the door, but Olga hung back. "Is—is Noel here?" she asked.

"Heavens, no!" said Nick. "He eloped with Peggy long ago."

"Oh!" A note of relief sounded in her voice. "I shall see him to-morrow," she said.

"Yes, he'll be over to-morrow." Nick shot her a swift look in the twilight. "Meantime, I have a message to give you from him," he said.

"So have I," cut in Max.

"I know what it is!" said Olga quickly.

"His love," said Max.

"His best love," said Nick.

There was an instant's silence in the room; then Olga bent her head and murmured softly, "God bless him!"



CHAPTER XXX

THE LINE OF RETREAT

"No," said Daisy, with decision. "I shall never like Dr. Wyndham, though I am quite willing to admit that he may be admirable in many ways. He is not my ideal of a nice husband, but then of course—" she dimpled prettily—"I'm only just back from my honeymoon, and I've been thoroughly spoilt."

Will smiled upon her indulgently. "It's just as well we don't all like the same people. He looked happy enough anyhow."

"In his lordly, cynical fashion," objected Daisy. "He was quite the most self-possessed bridegroom I ever saw."

"Just as well perhaps," commented Will. "Olga was positively shaking with nervousness. Dr. Jim went grimly armed with a brandy-flask and smelling-salts."

"Will, did he really? How like him!"

"Yes. Sir Kersley told me. But he added that it is a well-known fact that brides never faint, so Jim's precautions were quite unnecessary. He also said—But perhaps it's hardly fair to tell you that!"

"What?" said Daisy eagerly. "Of course tell me! Tell me at once, Will!"

Will smiled again. "Well, if I must! He told me that Max himself was anything but as serene as he looked and had been dosing with bromide to steady his nerves."

Daisy broke into a laugh. "No, you certainly shouldn't have told me that! How mean of Sir Kersley! Still, it's nice to know that Max is a little human now and then. I shall like him better now. And so I don't mind telling you something in return. I've been making the most discreet enquiries, and I haven't unearthed the vaguest rumour of that tale Major Hunt-Goring told me. I believe it was all his own invention after all."

"Very likely," said Will. "Opium-smokers often get delusions."

Daisy caught and kissed her husband's hand. "How very charitable of you, Will! You're a perpetual antidote to my poison. Did you observe Nick during the ceremony? He was grinning like a Hindu idol—just as if he'd done it all."

"He has his finger in most pies," observed Will. "I daresay it wasn't altogether absent from this one. Muriel looked supremely proud of her C.S.I."

"And she has reason to be," declared Daisy warmly. "He is quite a king in his own line. I'm so glad he got the Star."

"It's time he got something of the sort certainly," said Will. "I suppose he'll be good now for another six years. Then he'll send the boy to school and inveigle her back to the East."

But Daisy shook her head. "No. I think she'll keep him now. This country is wanting men very badly—and there's plenty to be done."

"Oh, he's a bulwark of the Empire," smiled Will. "He'll do the work of ten. Where's the kiddie gone?"

"She's somewhere with Noel. Did you see those two come out of church together? It was the sweetest sight," said Daisy with enthusiasm.

"She ought to have been walking with Reggie," observed Will.

"Yes, I'm afraid she deserted him. But he ran after Dr. Jim. They are great pals. But Peggy and Noel—" Daisy suddenly laughed—"oh, Will, I do love that boy!" she said. "It is good to see him his gay, handsome self again. See, there they are together now, sitting on the grass! I wonder what they are talking about."

"Probably discussing to-day's event," said Will.

"And wishing it had been their turn," laughed Daisy. A guess which, as it chanced, was not altogether wide of the mark! Peggy, the while she leaned against her cavalier, was remarking at that very moment that she thought Midsummer Day the nicest day in all the year for a "weddin'."

"Why?" said Noel.

"All the fairies gets married then," said Peggy.

"Silly little duffers!" said Noel unsympathetically.

She looked at him round-eyed, then slipped a soft hand into his. "Dear Noel, don't you like weddin's?"

Noel cut short an involuntary sigh. "Not always, Peggy," he said.

"Not when you're best man and I'm chief bridesmaid?" persisted Peggy, with her cheek against his shoulder.

He laughed, without much gaiety. "Oh, well, of course that makes a difference," he said.

There was a pause during which Peggy rubbed her cheek up and down his coat in tender silence. At last coaxingly, "Why didn't you like this weddin', dear Noel?" she asked.

But at that he broke into a half-shamed laugh and springing up snatched her high into his arms. "I'll tell you when we're married, Peg-top," he promised her. "Till then—let's have some fun!"

"Yes, yes!" cried Peggy, laughing down at him alluringly. "Let's have some fun!"

And that ended the conversation.

THE END