admit that it was very manly of him to make that outspoken
statement about Miss Wynton."

"What statement?" asked Spencer.

"Ah, I had forgotten. You were not present, of course. He made the
other woman's hysterical outburst supremely ridiculous by saying, in
effect, that he meant to marry Miss Wynton."

"He said that, eh?"

"Yes. He was quite emphatic. I rebuked Miss Jaques myself, and he
thanked me."

"Everything was nicely cut and dried in my absence, it seems."

"Well--er----"

"The crowd evidently lost sight of the fact that I had carried off the
prospective bride."

"N-no. Miss Jaques called attention to it."

"Guess her head is screwed on straight, _padre_. She made a bad break
in attacking Miss Wynton; but when she set about Bower she was running
on a strong scent. Sit tight, Mr. Hare. Don't take sides, or whoop up
the wrong spout, and you'll see heaps of fun before you're much
older."

Mightily incensed, the younger man turned away. The vicar produced his
handkerchief and trumpeted into it loudly.

"God bless my soul!" he said, and repeated the pious wish, for he felt
that it did him good, "how does one whoop up the wrong spout? And what
happens if one does? And how remarkably touchy everybody seems to
be. Next time I apply to the C.M.S. for an Alpine station, I shall
stipulate for a low altitude. I am sure this rarefied air is bad for
the nerves."

Nevertheless, Hare's startling communication was the one thing needed
to clear away the doubts that beset Spencer at the dinner table. He
had seen Mrs. de la Vere enter Helen's bedroom when he left the girl
in charge of a gesticulating maid; but an act of womanly solicitude
did not explain the friendship that sprang so suddenly into existence.
Now he understood, or thought he understood, which is a man's way when
he seeks to interpret a woman's mind. Mrs. de la Vere, like the rest,
was dazzled by Bower's wealth. After ignoring Helen during the past
fortnight, she was prepared to toady to her instantly in her new guise
as the chosen bride of a millionaire. The belief added fuel to the
fire already raging in his breast.

There never was man more loyal to woman in his secret meditations than
Spencer; but his gorge rose at the sight of Helen's winsome gratitude
to one so unworthy of it. With him, now as ever, to think was to act.

Watching his chance, he waylaid Helen when her vigilant chaperon was
momentarily absorbed in a suggestion that private th