her husband's aspect. She repeated the story
with which he was already acquainted.

'And really, after all, I am so glad!' was her conclusion. 'I didn't
think she had really gone; all the afternoon I've been expecting to
see her back again. But she won't come now, and it is a good thing
to have done with the wretched business. I only hope she will tell
the truth to her people. She might say that we turned her out of the
house. But I don't think so; in spite of all her faults, she never
seemed deceitful or malicious.'

Mumford was strongly tempted to reveal what had happened at the
station, but he saw danger alike in disclosure and in reticence.

When there enters the slightest possibility of jealousy, a man can
never be sure that his wife will act as a rational being. He feared
to tell the simple truth lest Emmeline should not believe his
innocence of previous plotting with Miss Derrick, or at all events
should be irritated by the circumstances into refusing Louise a
lodging for the night. And with no less apprehension he decided at
length to keep the secret, which might so easily become known
hereafter, and would then have such disagreeable consequences.

'Well, let us have dinner, Emmy; I'm hungry. Yes, it's a good thing
she has gone; but I wish it hadn't happened in that way. What a
spitfire she is!'

'I never, never saw the like. And if you had heard Mrs. Higgins! Oh,
what dreadful people! Clarence, hear me register a vow--'

'It was my fault, dear. I'm awfully sorry I got you in for such
horrors. It was wholly and entirely my fault.'

By due insistence on this, Mumford of course put his wife into an
excellent humour, and, after they had dined, she returned to her
regret that the girl should have gone so suddenly. Clarence,
declaring that he would allow himself a cigar, instead of the usual
pipe, to celebrate the restoration of domestic peace, soon led
Emmeline into the garden.

'Heavens! how hot it has been. Eighty-five in our office at
noon--eighty-five! Fellows are discarding waistcoats and wearing
what they call a cummerbund--silk sash round the waist. I think I
must follow the fashion. How should I look, do you think?'

'You don't really mind that we lose the money?' Emmeline asked
presently.

'Pooh! We shall do well enough.--Who's that?'

Someone was entering the garden by the side path. And in a moment
there remained no doubt who the person was. Louise came forward, her
head bent, her features