our blacksmiths to make a dozen pairs to pattern. They will be in next
month's catalogue.'

'I congratulate you, Banbury.'

And he passed on. The early-rising customers were beginning to invade
the galleries, the cashiers in their confessional-boxes were settling
themselves in their seats, faultless shopwalkers were giving a final
hitch to their lovely collars, and the rank-and-file were preparing to
receive cavalry. The vast machine had started, slowly and deliberately,
as an express engine starts. And already the heat, as yesterday, was
formidable. But _she_ would not suffer to-day; she was not in Department
42.

He went further and further, aimlessly penetrating to the very heart of
the jungle of departments. He had glimpses of departments that he had
not seen for weeks. At length he came to the verdant and delicious
Flower Department (hot-house branch), and by chance he caught a word
which brought him to a standstill.

'What's that?' he asked sharply, of a salesman in white.

'Order for orange-blossom, sir. A single sprig only. Rather a curious
order, sir.'

'You can supply it?'

'Without doubt, sir.'

'Who is the customer?'

'Mr. Francis Tudor,' replied the salesman, looking at a paper. 'No. 7,
the Flats.'

'Ah yes,' he said; and thought: 'My life is over.'

He gazed with unseeing eyes into the green and shady recesses of the
palmarium, where water trickled and tinkled.

What was the power, the influence, the lever, which Francis Tudor was
using to induce Camilla to marry him--him whom, on her own statement,
she did not love? And could Louis Ravengar be in earnest, after all,
with his savage threats?

CHAPTER IX

'WHICH?'

'And when I decide, the thing is as good as done.' Those proud, vain
words of his, spoken to Louis Ravengar with all the arrogance of a man
who had never met Fate like a lion in the path, often recurred to Hugo's
mind during the next few weeks. And their futility exasperated him. He
had decided to win Camilla, and therefore Camilla was as good as won!
Only, she had been married on the very morning of those boastful words
by license at a registry-office to Francis Tudor. The strange admixture
of orange-blossom and registry-office was not the only strange thing
about the wedding. It was clear, for example, that Tudor must have
arranged the preliminaries of the ceremony before the bride's consent
had been obtained--unless, indeed, Camilla had garbled the truth to Hugo