the morning."

"You ... you haven't been there yet, then?" Barry hated himself for his
fatuity as he put the question.

"No. Fact is, I was a perfect savage when I landed ... a beard half a
yard long!" He laughed jovially. "Had to get trimmed up a bit ... but in
any case she would probably have been out somewhere or other to-night."

"Yes. I see."

"But first thing in the morning, it's a taxi for mine, as the Americans
say. And I shall catch her alone, after breakfast, before anyone's
about."

"Yea." Barry paused, cursing himself for his cowardice, and then plunged
recklessly into the quicksand before him. "Owen, old man, have you heard
anything about Miss Rees lately?"

"Heard anything?" He laid down his pipe and stared at his questioner.
"Why should I hear anything? What is there to hear?"

Before replying Barry rose, and stood leaning against the mantelpiece;
and as he looked down on his friend his heart was wrung within him at
the cruelty of fate.

"You ... you've not seen her name in the papers?" His throat was dry,
but he went on bravely.

"Papers? I've not looked at a newspaper for months. And anyway, what
should I see about Vivian in any paper?"

"Only ... I thought you might have done." Barry was finding his task
almost incredibly hard, and his brow was pearled with fine drops of
moisture as he stood before his friend.

"What was there to see, Barry?" Owen's voice was quiet--dangerously
quiet. "Is there anything wrong with Vivian? Is she--has she been ill?"

"No."

"Then ... God! man, what are you trying to tell me?" His forced calm was
breaking up. "Out with it--whatever it is. Is Vivian--is she _dead_?"

"No--oh, no." He spoke hurriedly, thankful that he could at least answer
that question in the negative.

"Then ... what is it? Come, Barry"--Owen spoke through his teeth in a
hoarse tone quite unlike his usual voice--"if Vivian is not dead, not
ill ... what is this wonderful piece of news I might have read in the
papers--and did not?"

There was a moment's tense silence, broken only by the crackling of the
gay little fire on the hearth.

Then Barry said heavily:

"Miss Rees was married to Lord Saxonby this morning."

CHAPTER II

For a moment there was a silence fraught with a thousand possibilities.
Then Owen sprang from his seat and crossing the intervening space, as it
were in a bound, seized his friend savagely by the shoulders.

"Say that again, Barry! Say it if you _d