pleasant appointments, upon the tankard of beer by his side, upon
the plate of roast beef to which he was already doing ample
justice. He laughed with the easy confidence of a man awakened
from some haunting nightmare, relieved to find his feet once more
firm upon the ground.

"I have been a fool to take the whole matter so seriously,
Andrew," he declared. "I expect to walk back to Clarges Street
to-night, disillusioned. The man will probably present me with a
gold pencil-case, and the woman--"

"Well, what about the woman?" Wilmore asked, after a brief pause.

"Oh, I don't know!" Francis declared, a little impatiently. "The
woman is the mystery, of course. Probably my brain was a little
over-excited when I came out of Court, and what I imagined to be
an epic was nothing more than a tissue of exaggerations from a
disappointed wife. I'm sure I'm doing the right thing to go
there .... What about a four-ball this afternoon, Andrew?"

The four-ball match was played and won in normal fashion. The
two men returned to town together afterwards, Wilmore to the club
and Francis to his rooms in Clarges Street to prepare for dinner.
At a few minutes to eight he rang the bell of number 10 b, Hill
Street, and found his host and hostess awaiting him in the small
drawing-room into which he was ushered. It seemed to him that
the woman, still colourless, again marvellously gowned, greeted
him coldly. His host, however, was almost too effusive. There
was no other guest, but the prompt announcement of dinner
dispelled what might have been a few moments of embarrassment