attorneys, a
search for his wife, and meanwhile try to formulate some sort of
definite plan in regard to Gladys Orchil; for if that featherbrained
youngster went abroad in the spring he meant to follow her and not only
have the Atlantic between him and Selwyn when he began final suit for
freedom, but also be in a position to ride off any of the needy
household cavalry who might come caracolling and cavorting too close to
the young girl he had selected to rehabilitate the name, fortune, and
house of Ruthven.

This, in brief, was Ruthven's general scheme of campaign; and the entire
affair had taken some sort of shape, and was slowly beginning to move,
when Neergard's illness came as an absolute check, just as the first
papers were about to be served on him.

There was nothing to do but wait until Neergard got well, because his
attorneys simply scoffed at any suggestion of settlement _ex curia_, and
Ruthven didn't want a suit involving his wife's name while he and
Selwyn were in the same hemisphere.

But he could still continue an unobtrusive search for the whereabouts of
his wife, which he did. And the chances were that his attorneys would
find her without great difficulty, because Selwyn had not the slightest
suspicion that he was being followed.

* * * * *

In these days Selwyn's life was methodical and colourless in its routine
to the verge of dreariness.

When he was not at the Government proving grounds on Sandy Hook he
remained in his room at Lansing's, doggedly forcing himself into the
only alternate occupation sufficient to dull the sadness of his
mind--the preparation of a history of British military organisation in
India, and its possible application to present conditions in the
Philippines.

He had given up going out--made no further pretense; and Boots let him
alone.

Once a week he called at the Gerards', spending most of his time while
there with the children. Sometimes he saw Nina and Eileen, usually just
returned or about to depart for some function; and his visit, as a rule,
ended with a cup of tea alone with Austin, and a quiet cigar in the
library, where Kit-Ki sat, paws folded under, approving of the fireside
warmth in a pleasureable monotone.

On such evenings, late, if Nina and Eileen had gone to a dance, or to
the opera with Boots, Austin, ruddy with well-being and shamelessly
slippered, stretched luxuriously in the fire warmth, lazily discussing
what was