d his teeth. "I'm not going to hang about her and let her treat me
as she pleases. She can get somebody else, some one who is more
complacent than I am, and doesn't feel things. I hope she goes to the
Park and waits for me. Perhaps that'll teach her to understand what a
man feels like...."

But of course she would not go to the Park and wait for him. He would
send an express messenger with a note to tell her that he was unable to
keep the appointment.

"I'll write it now," he said to himself and he stopped in the middle of
washing his face and hands to find notepaper. "Damn, my hands are wet,"
he said aloud, and picked up a towel.

"_Dear Lady Cecily_," he wrote, when he was dry, using the formal
address because he wished to let her know that he was ill friends with
her, "_I am sorry I shall not be able to meet you to-day as we arranged
last night_." He wondered what excuse he should make for breaking off
the appointment, and then decided that he would not make any. "I won't
add anything else," he said, and he signed himself, "_Yours sincerely,
Henry Quinn_." "She'll know that I'm sick of this ... messing about. I
don't see why I should explain myself to her!"

He sealed the envelope and put the letter aside, and sat for a while
drumming on his table with the pen.

"Mary's worth a dozen of her," he said aloud, getting up and going to
bed.

THE NINTH CHAPTER

1

They all rose early the next day. Ninian had been out of the house
before any of them had reached the breakfast room, and when he returned,
his arms were full of newspapers.

"What's Walkley say?" said Gilbert. "That's all I want to know!"

They opened the _Times_, and then, when they had read the criticism of
"The Magic Casement," they murmured, "Charming! Splendid! Oh, ripping!"
while Gilbert, sitting back in his chair, smiled beatifically and said,
"Read it again, coves. Read it aloud and slowly!"

While they were reading the notices, Henry went off to a post office,
and sent his letter to Lady Cecily by express messenger. "That's
settled," he said, as he returned home, for he had been afraid that he
might change his mind. As he was shaving that morning, he had faltered
in his resolution. "I'd better go," he had said to himself, and then had
added weakly, "No, I'm damned if I will!" Well, it was settled now. The
letter was on its way to her. She would probably be angry with him, but
not as angry as he was with her, and perhaps they would