use, lowering her eyes.

"No, it isn't," said Robert.

"Really!" remonstrated Miss Hartley.

"I think that I am luckier than he is," said Robert, in a low voice. "At
least, I hope so. Shall I tell you why?"

"No," said Joan, quickly.

Mr. Vyner moistened his lips.

"Perhaps you know," he said, unsteadily.

Joan made no reply.

"You do know," said Robert.

Miss Hartley looked up with a sudden, careless laugh.

"It sounds like a conundrum," she said, gayly. "But it doesn't matter.
I hope you _will_ be lucky."

"I intend to be," said Robert.

"My hus--husband," said Joan, going very red, "would probably use the
word 'fate' instead of 'luck.'"

"It is a favourite word of my wife's," said Robert gravely. "Ah, what a
couple they would have made!"

"_Who?_" inquired Joan, eying him in bewilderment.

"My wife and your husband," said Robert. "I believe they were made for
each other."

Miss Hartley retreated in good order. "I think you are talking
nonsense," she said, with some dignity.

"Yes," said Robert, with a smile. "Ground-bait."

"What?" said Joan, in a startled voice.

"Ground-bait."

Miss Hartley made an appeal to his better feelings. "You are making my
head ache," she said, pathetically. "I'm sure I don't know what you are
talking about."

Mr. Vyner apologized, remarking that it was a common fault of
young husbands to talk too much about their wives, and added, as an
interesting fact, that he had only been married that afternoon. Miss
Hartley turned a deaf ear.

He spread a little ground-bait--of a different kind--before Hartley
during the next few days, and in a short time had arrived at a pretty
accurate idea of the state of affairs. It was hazy and lacking in
detail, but it was sufficient to make him give Laurel Lodge a wide berth
for the time being, and to work still harder for that share in the
firm which he had always been given to understand would be his. In the
meantime he felt that Joan's _marriage de convenance_ was a comfortable
arrangement for all parties concerned.

This was still his view of it as he sat in his office one afternoon
about a couple of months after Captain Trimblett's departure. He had met
Miss Hartley in the street the day before, and, with all due regard
to appearances, he could not help thinking that she had been somewhat
unnecessarily demure. In return she had gone away with three crushed
fingers and a colour that was only partially due to exercise. He was