"I've just come from your house. There's a letter from the Salon in
your box."

Gethryn set down his wine untasted and reached for his hat.

"What's the matter, Reggy? Has Lisette gone back on you?" asked
Clifford, tenderly.

"It's the Salon," said Braith, as Gethryn went out with a hasty
"Good night."

"Poor Reggy, how hard he takes it!" sighed Clifford.

Gethryn hurried along the familiar streets with his heart in his boots
sometimes, and sometimes in his mouth.

In his box was a letter and a note addressed in pencil. He snatched
them both, and lighting a candle, mounted the stairs, unlocked his
door and sank breathless upon the lounge. He tore open the first
envelope. A bit of paper fell out. It was from Braith and said:

I congratulate you either way. If you are successful I shall be as
glad as you are. If not, I still congratulate you on the manly
courage which you are going to show in turning defeat into victory.

"He's one in a million," thought Gethryn, and opened the other
letter. It contained a folded paper and a card. The card was white.
The paper read: