ied the literal lady, with
pained brow. "Couldn't you let us hear to-morrow evening? I know only
too well what dreadful creatures the women of that class can be. I very
strongly advise you, Mr. Warburton, to be accompanied by a policeman. I
beg you will."

Late on the Monday afternoon, Jollyman's errand boy left a note for
Mrs. Cross. It informed her that all had gone well, though "not without
uproar. The woman shrieked insults from her doorstep after our
departing cab. Poor Mr. Potts was all but paralytic with alarm, but
came round famously at sight of the new lodgings. He wants to thank you
both."

It was on this same evening that Warburton had a visit from Godfrey
Sherwood. A fortnight ago, just after Easter, had taken place the
marriage of Mr. Milligan and Miss Parker; and Sherwood, whilst his
chief was absent on the honeymoon, had run down to the seaside for a
change of air. Tonight, he presented himself unexpectedly, and his face
was the prologue to a moving tale.

"Read that, Warburton--" he held out a letter. "Read that, and tell me
what you think of human nature."

It was a letter from Milligan, who, with many explanations and
apologies, wrote to inform his secretary that the Great Work could not
be pursued, that the vegetarian colony in Ireland, which was to
civilise the world, must--so far as he was concerned--remain a glorious
dream. The fact of the matter was, Mrs. Milligan did not like it. She
had tried vegetarianism; it did not suit her health; moreover, she
objected to living in Ireland, on account of the dampness of the
climate. Sadly, reluctantly, Mrs. Milligan's husband had to forgo his
noble project. In consequence, he would have no need henceforth of a
secretary, and Sherwood must consider their business relations at an
end.

"He encloses a very liberal cheque," said Godfrey. "But what a
downfall! I foresaw it. I hinted my fears to you as soon as Miss Parker
appeared on the scene. Poor old Milligan! A lost man--sunk in the
commonplace--hopelessly whelmed in vulgar matrimony. Poor old fellow!"

Warburton chuckled.

"But that isn't all," went on the other, "Old Strangwyn is dead, really
dead at last. I wrote several times to him; no acknowledgment of my
letters. Now it's all over. The ten thousand pounds--"

He made a despairing gesture. Then:

"Take that cheque, Warburton. It's all I have; take it, old fellow, and
try to forgive me. You won't? Well, well, if I live, I'll pay you yet;
but