lady to whom the piano was addressed had come into being. The simplest
of transformations; no bridal gown, no veil, no wreath; only the gold
ring for symbol of union. And it might have happened nigh a score of
years ago; nigh a score of years lost from the span of human life--all
for want of a little money.

'I will say good-bye to you here,' muttered Everard to his friend at
the church door.

The married man gripped him by the arm.

'You will do nothing of the kind.--Fanny, he wants to be off at
once!--You won't go until you have heard my wife play something on that
blessed instrument.'

So all entered a cab again and drove back to the house. A servant who
had come with Fanny from the country, a girl of fifteen, opened the
door to them, smiling and curtseying. And all sat together in happy
talk, the blind woman gayest among them; she wished to have the
clergyman described to her, and the appearance of the church. Then Mrs.
Micklethwaite placed herself at the piano, and played simple,
old-fashioned music, neither well nor badly, but to the infinite
delight of two of her hearers.

'Mr. Barfoot,' said the sister at length, 'I have known your name for a
long time, but I little thought to meet you on such a day as this, and
to owe you such endless thanks. So long as I can have music I forget
that I can't see.

'Barfoot is the finest fellow on earth,' exclaimed Micklethwaite. 'At
least, he would be if he understood Trilinear Co-ordinates.'

'Are _you_ strong in mathematics, Mrs. Micklethwaite?' asked Everard.

'I? Oh dear, no! I never got much past the Rule of Three. But Tom has
forgiven me that long ago.'

'I don't despair of getting you into plane trigonometry, Fanny. We will
gossip about sines and co-sines before we die.'

It was said half-seriously, and Everard could not but burst into
laughter.

He sat down with them to their plain midday meal, and early in the
afternoon took his leave. He had no inclination to go home, if the
empty fiat could be dignified with such a name. After reading the
papers at his club, he walked aimlessly about the streets until it was
time to return to the same place for dinner. Then he sat with a cigar,
dreaming, and at half-past eight went to the Royal Oak Station, and
journeyed to Chelsea.

CHAPTER XIII

DISCORD OF LEADERS

A disappointment awaited him. Miss Barfoot was not well enough to see
any one. Had she been suffering long? he inquired. No; it was only this