volved leading
them both blindfold to the verge of mutual discovery troubled him not
a whit. Heart and conscience alike asserted that in this case the end
justified the means; and it needed but the veiled light in Honor's
eyes at mention of Theo's name to set the seal on his decision.

For near an hour they talked, with that effortless ease and intimacy
which is the hail-mark of a genuine friendship; and at the end of it
Honor realised that, without any conscious intention on her part,
Theo--and little else but Theo--had been their topic as a matter of
course. Never dreaming of design on the part of Paul, she merely
blessed him for a devotion that almost equalled her own, and accepted,
with unfeigned alacrity, his suggestion that they should meet next
morning at the Diploma Gallery.

"I've not been there for a hundred years!" she declared with more of
her old lightness than he had yet seen in her: "It will take me back
to bread-and-butter days! And I believe they have added some really
good pictures since then."

Paul exulted as an angler exults when he feels his first salmon tug at
the line; but his tone was casual and composed. "Come early," he said.
"Then we shall pretty well have the place to ourselves. Eleven?
Half-past?"

"Somewhere between the two."

"Good."

And Paul Wyndham--the devout lover, who had trampled passion underfoot
to some purpose--walked back to Piccadilly like a man reprieved. Honor
was secure. Remained the capture of Theo--a more difficult feat; but,
in his present mood, he refused to contemplate the possibility of
failure.

* * * * *

A morning of unclouded brilliance found Desmond frankly bored with
tactics and topography; the more so, perhaps, because Paul with simple
craft took his industry for granted.

Soon after eleven, he put aside the inevitable pipe and newspaper and
took up his hat. "Well, Theo," said he, "you won't be needing me till
after lunch I suppose?--I'm off."

"Where to, old man?" Desmond yawned extensively as he spoke, and
pushed aside his little pile of red books with a promising gesture of
distaste. "What's your dissipated programme?"

"An hour in the Diploma Gallery, and a stroll in the Park," Paul
replied with admirable unconcern. "D'you feel like coming?"

"I feel like chucking all these into the waste-paper basket! When
England takes it into her capricious head to do this sort of thing in
May, how the devil can a human man