"I am afraid it is serious, Millicent."

He took her hand with a gravity which made matters worse.

"What a pity!" she exclaimed; and somehow both the words and the
speaker rang shallow. She did not seem to grasp the situation,
which was perhaps beyond her reach. But she did the next best
thing. She looked puzzled, pretty, and helpless.

"What is to be done, Jack?" she said, laying her two hands on his
breast and looking up pleadingly.

There was something in the man's clear-cut face--something beyond
aristocratic repose--as he looked down into her eyes--something
which Sir John Meredith might perhaps have liked to see there. To
all men comes, soon or late, the moment wherein their lives are
suddenly thrust into their own hands to shape or spoil, to make or
mar. It seemed that where a clever man had failed, this light-
hearted girl was about to succeed. Two small clinging hands on Jack
Meredith's breast had apparently wrought more than all Sir John's
care and foresight. At last the light of energy gleamed in Jack
Meredith's lazy eyes. At last he faced the "initiative," and seemed
in no wise abashed.

"There are two things," he answered; "a small choice."

"Yes."

"The first and the simplest," he went on in the tone of voice which