n appears. I once wore a suit
of clothes for six years! And they were as good as new when--"

But Owen refused to be interested in Harding's old clothes. "If I'm
not married to-morrow I shall never marry. You don't believe me,
Harding? Now, of what are you thinking? Of that suit of clothes which
you have had for six years or of my marriage--which?"

At the moment that Owen interrupted him Harding was thinking that
perhaps a woman who had attempted suicide to escape from another man
would not drift as easily into marriage as Owen thought; but, of
course, he did not dare to confess such an opinion.

"You don't mind dining at half-past seven?"

"Not in the least, my good friend, not in the least." Going towards
Berkeley Square they continued to speak about Evelyn.... She would
have to refuse Owen to-night or accept him: so he would know his
fate to-night.

"Just fancy," he said, "to-morrow I am either going to be married
or--" And he stared into the depths of a picture about which he
thought he would like to have Harding's opinion, but it did not matter
what anybody thought of pictures until he knew what Evelyn was going
to do. None had any interest for him; but they could not talk of
Evelyn during dinner, the room being full of servants, and he was
forced to listen to Harding, who was rather tiresome on the subject of
how a collection of pictures had better be formed, and the proposal to
go to France to seek for an Ingres did not appeal to him.

"I hope you don't mind my smoking a pipe," Harding said as they rose
from table.

"No," he said, "smoke what you like, I don't care; smoke in my study,
only raise the window. But you'll excuse me, Harding. My appointment
is for eight."

As he was about to leave the room a footman came in, saying that Miss
Innes' maid would like to see him, and, guessing that something had
happened, Owen said:

"It is to tell me I'm not to go to see her; something disagreeable
always--" And he left the room abruptly.

"I have shown the maid into the morning-room, Sir Owen."

"Now, what is the matter, Merat?"

"Perhaps you had better read the letter first, Sir Owen, and then we
can talk."

"I can't read without my glasses; do you read it, Merat." Without
waiting for her to answer he returned to the dining-room. "I have
forgotten my glasses, Harding, that is all; you will wait for me."
His hand trembled as he tried to fix the glasses on his nose.

"MY DEAR OWEN,--I am afraid you wi