t. Don't, I beg of you, trouble your
head about the matter. Even as an old friend, one must be allowed one's
self-respect."

"But mayn't I--"

"Nearly ten o'clock!" he cried, looking at his watch. "I must be off
this moment. So you are going to the house in Heribert Street? I
remember Lady Mary Leicester perfectly. As soon as you are settled, tell
me, and I will present myself. Meanwhile "--he smiled and bent his black
head towards her--"look in to-morrow's papers for some interesting
news."

He sprang into his hansom and was gone.

Julie went slowly up-stairs. Of course she understood. The long intrigue
had reached its goal, and within twelve hours the _Times_ would announce
the appointment of Captain Warkworth, D.S.O., to the command of the
Mokembe military mission. He would have obtained his heart's
desire--through her.

How true were those last words, perhaps only Julie knew. She looked back
upon all the manoeuvres and influences she had brought to bear--flattery
here, interest or reciprocity there, the lures of Crowborough House, the
prestige of Lady Henry's drawing-room. Wheel by wheel she had built up
her cunning machine, and the machine had worked. No doubt the last
completing touch had been given the night before. Her culminating
offence against Lady Henry--the occasion of her disgrace and
banishment--had been to Warkworth the stepping-stone of fortune.

What "gossamer girl" could have done so much? She threw back her head
proudly and heard the beating of her heart.

Lady Henry was fiercely forgotten. She opened the drawing-room door,
absorbed in a counting of the hours till she and Warkworth should meet.

Then, amid the lights and shadows of the Duchess's drawing-room, Jacob
Delafield rose and came towards her. Her exaltation dropped in a moment.
Some testing, penetrating influence seemed to breathe from this man,
which filled her with a moral discomfort, a curious restlessness. Did he
guess the nature of her feeling for Warkworth? Was he acquainted with
the efforts she had been making for the young soldier? She could not be
sure; he had never given her the smallest sign. Yet she divined that few
things escaped him where the persons who touched his feelings were
concerned. And Evelyn--the dear chatterbox--certainly suspected.

"How tired you are!" he said to her, gently. "What a day it has been for
you! Evelyn is writing letters. Let me bring you the papers--and please
don't talk."

She submitted