wanted--a delightful, old, cottagy place, yet with all modern
conveniences, lacking, alas! only electric light.

All this had happened, so she had explained, after her last letter to
him, for she and Radmore had kept up a desultory correspondence.

And now, with Janet Tosswill's voice still sounding in his ears, Godfrey
Radmore was not altogether sorry to feel a touch of loneliness, for at
times his good fortune frightened him.

Not only had he escaped through the awful ordeal of war with only one bad
wound, while many of his friends and comrades--the best and bravest, the
most happily young, had fallen round him--but he had come back to find
himself transformed from a penniless adventurer into a very rich man. An
old Brisbane millionaire, into whose office he had drifted in the January
of 1914, and with whom he had, after a fashion, made friends, had re-made
his will in the memorable autumn of that year, and had left Radmore half
his vast fortune. Doubtless many such wills were made under the stress of
war emotion, but--and it was here that Radmore's strange luck had come
in--the maker of this particular will had died within a month of making
it. And, as so often happens to a man who had begun by losing what little
he had owing to folly and extravagance, Godfrey Radmore, though
exceptionally generous and kindly, now lived well within his means, and
had, if anything, increased his already big share of this world's goods.

Now that he was home for good, he intended to buy a nice old-fashioned
house with a little shooting, and perchance a little fishing. The place,
though not at Land's End, must yet not be so near London that a fellow
would be tempted to be always going to town. It seemed to him amazing
that he now had it within his power to achieve what had always been his