ed, with a
rueful gesture, "Still, it's most unlikely."

Agatha looked at her with a little glint in her eyes.

"He is merely Gregory's deputy," she said, with a subconscious feeling
that the word "deputy" was not a fortunate one. "In that connection, I
should like to point out that you can estimate a man's character by that
of his friends."

"Oh," rejoined Winifred, "then if Mr. Wyllard's strong points merely
heighten Gregory's virtues, I've nothing more to say. Any way, I'll
reserve my homage until I've seen Gregory. Perfection among men is
scarce nowadays."

She turned away, and left Agatha thoughtful. In the meanwhile, Mrs.
Hastings came upon Wyllard alone in the music-room.

"You look quite serious," she remarked.

"I've been thinking about Miss Ismay and Gregory," Wyllard replied. "In
fact, I feel a little anxious about them."

"In what way?"

"Without making any reflections upon Gregory, I somewhat feel sorry for
the girl."

Mrs. Hastings nodded. "As a matter of fact, that's very much what I felt
from the first," she admitted. "Still, you see, there's the important
fact that she's fond of him, and it should smooth out a good many
difficulties. Anyway, she's evidently rather a courageous person."

Wyllard sat silent a moment or two. "I wasn't troubling about the
material difficulties--lack of wealth and all that," he said. "I was
wondering if she really could be fond of him. It is some years since she
was much in his company."

"Hawtrey is not a man to change."

"That," returned Wyllard, "is just the trouble. I've no doubt he's much
the same, but one could fancy that Miss Ismay has changed a good deal
since she last saw him. She'll look for considerably more than she was
probably content with then."

"In any case, it isn't your affair." Mrs. Hastings smiled significantly.

"In one sense it certainly isn't; but I can't help feeling a little
troubled about the thing. You see, Gregory is quite an old friend."

"And the girl is going to marry him," said Mrs. Hastings, raising her
eyebrows.

Wyllard rose. "That reminder," he said, "is quite uncalled for. I would
like to assure you of it."

He went out, and Mrs. Hastings sat still in a reflective mood.

"If she begins to compare him with Hawtrey, there can be only one
result," she said.

The fog had almost gone next morning, and pale sunshine streamed down
upon a a froth-flecked sea. A bitter wind, however, still came out of
the hazy north, and