ous liberty." But for this stroke of fate she
would have become Octon's wife.

How did the stroke of fate leave her? Or, rather, leave her fame? Of
herself I knew nothing--save that she would be alone. She loved an
equipoise. Her fame was balanced in one now. Fillingford and Lady Sarah,
Mrs. Jepps and Alison, would think still what they had thought; probably
the bulk of opinion would be with them. But we had a case. We could
brazen it out. Bertram Ware could still be provisional, Lady Aspenick
could use the road through the park--even Eunice might ride with her;
and old Mr. Dormer would scarcely strain the proprieties to breaking
point if he permitted himself to be accompanied by his wife. The verdict
could be "Not Proven."

A week later the French authorities forwarded to me a letter from
Octon--found on his table at the hotel and written the evening before
the meeting:

"MY DEAR AUSTIN--I have to fight a fellow to-morrow--a very
decent fellow--on the ostensible ground of my having spoken
disrespectfully of the Pope, which naturally is not at all the
real cause of quarrel. I rather think I shall be killed--first,
for the sensible reason that he is angry (I hit him. 'Of course
you did,' I hear you say) and a good shot; secondly, because
she has at last elected to settle things and that offers a
temptation to chance--not such a sensible reason--indeed an
utterly nonsensical one, which accordingly entirely convinces
me. I leave her to you. Don't try to marry her--it only worries
her--but serve her well, and as you serve her, so may God
Almighty, in whom I believe though you think I don't, serve
you. You couldn't spend your life (you're not a great man, you
know) to better account. How I have spent mine doesn't matter.
I have on the credit side of the balance the discovery of five
new insects. It is to be hoped that this will not be
overlooked.--Yours,

"L. O."

New insects--five! Private faults--how many? What is the Table of
Weights? That must be known, to strike the balance of Leonard Octon's
life.

CHAPTER XVII

ONE OF TWO LEGACIES

The clouds settled down over Jenny; a veil of silence obscured her.
Business letters were still exchanged through the bankers at Paris, but
hers bore no postmarks; they must have arrived in Paris under cover;
they came under cover to Breysgate, and thus gave no indication of her
wh