w conditions.

"Before you left him, you mean," growled the Earl. "What sort of sense
was there in letting him fight a duel?--it could have been stopped in
fifty different ways."

"Yes, my lord, but I never suspicioned a word of it till he went off
in the cab with them----"

The Earl held up a warning finger.

"Hush," he said, "this is France, remember, and _you_ are the
foreigner here. Where is my son's car?"

"In the garage at Folkestone, my lord."

"Well, you had better cross by an early boat to-morrow and bring it
here. You understand all the preliminaries, I suppose? Find out from
the Customs people what deposit is necessary, and come to me for the
money."

So it happened that when Medenham was able to take his first drive in
the open air, the Mercury awaited him and Cynthia at the door of the
hotel. It positively sparkled in the sunlight; never was car more
spick and span. The brasswork scintillated, each cylinder was
rhythmical, and a microscope would not have revealed one speck of dust
on body or upholstery.

* * * * *

On a day in July--for everybody agreed that not even a marriage should
be allowed to interfere with the Scottish festival of St. Grouse--that
same shining Mercury with the tonneau decorously cased in glass for
the hour, drew up at the edge of a red carpet laid down from curb
to stately porch of St. George's, Hanover Square, and Dale turned a
grinning face to the doorway when Viscount Medenham led his bride down
the steps through a shower of rice and good wishes.

Wedding breakfasts and receptions are all "much of a muchness," as the
Mad Hatter said to another Alice, and it was not until the Mercury was
speeding north by west to Scarland Towers, "lent to the happy pair
for the honeymoon" while Betty took the children to recuperate at the
seaside, that Cynthia felt she was really married.

"I have a bit of news for you," said her husband, taking a letter from
his pocket. "I received a letter by this morning's post. A heap of
others remain unopened till you and I have time to go through them;
but this one caught my attention, and I read it while I was dressing."

He had an excellent excuse for putting his arm round her waist while
he held the open sheet so that both might peruse it at the same time.
It ran:

MY DEAR VISCOUNT--Of course I meant to kill you, but fate
decided otherwise. Indeed, with my usual candor, which by
this time you