Mrs. Harrington drummed with her thin wrinkled fingers on the arm of
her chair, and waited with a queer anticipatory little smile for her
friend to proceed.

"But, of course," continued Mrs. Ingham-Baker, blundering into the
little feminine snare, "a naval man can scarcely marry. They are
always so badly off. I suppose poor Fitz will not be able to
support a wife until he is quite middle-aged."

"That remains to be seen," said Mrs. Harrington, with a gleam in her
hard grey eyes, and Mrs. Ingham-Baker pricked her finger.

"I am sure," said the latter lady unctuously, when she had had time
to think it out, "I am sure I should be content for her to live very
quietly if I only knew that she had married a good man. I always
say that riches do not make happiness."

"Yes, a number of people say that," answered Mrs. Harrington, and at
the same moment Fitz burst into the room.

"Aunt Marian," he cried, "he has gone!"

"Who has gone?" asked the lady of the house coldly. "Please close
the door."

"Luke! He has gone! He went straight out of the house, and the
butler does not know where he went to! It is all your fault, Aunt
Marian; you had no right to speak to him like that! You know you
hadn't. I am going to look for him."