rm. "'Reenunciation, 'Erbert, 'ath its reeward.' (Loud and
prolonged cheers.) Well, well...." He rose to his feet and stretched
luxuriously. "It's all the same in a hundred years, and so long as
she's happy..." And with that little candle of truly handsome
philosophy Mr. Peter Every lighted himself to bed.

Upon the following Sunday, at a quarter before midday, he set Miss
French down upon the London road at the spot at which he and Joan had
met Lyveden a fortnight before.

"I'll wait till you've seen if he's in," he said, nodding towards the
cottage. "If he is, I'll come back in an hour. That do?"

Valerie smiled and nodded. She was just twittering. Then she flung
her veil back over her shoulder and stepped off the road on to the
wasted track....

It was a beautiful day--a handful of sweet-smelling hours filched by
Winter out of the wallet of Spring. The wet earth seemed drenched with
perfume; the winds kept holy-day; the sun, like a giant surprisedly
refreshed, beamed with benevolence.

Her knocking upon the door of the cottage evoking no answer, Miss
French decided to try the back.

The venture was fruitful.

There upon the red-brick pavement stood a small snow-white dog, whom
Major Anthony Lyveden, seated upon a soap-box, was towelling vigorously.

Between the fuss of the operation and the amicable wrangle which it
induced, neither of the parties heard the lady's approach. For a
moment she stood spellbound. Then she turned and waved her arm to
Every, sitting still in the car fifty odd paces away. Intelligently
the latter waved back....

As Valerie turned, there was a scrabble of paws. Followed a sharp
exclamation, and the next moment Patch was leaping frantically to lick
her face, while Anthony Lyveden, who had risen to his feet, was staring
at her and recoiling, towel in hand, as if he had perceived an
apparition.

For the two, who had shared big moments, it was the most tremendous of
all. Upon a sudden impulse that black king Fate had flung his warder
up. Instantly the barriers of Time and Distance had been swept away,
and Love, Shame, Fear, and a whole host of Emotions had come swarming
pell-mell back into the lists--a surging, leaderless mob, thirsty to
flesh their swords, quarrelling amongst themselves....

Sit you there by the king, sirs, if you will watch the tourney. Climb
up into his pavilion; make his grim equerries give place. I will
answer for their black looks. And the