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“Wentworth,” he said, “I left you rudely the other day. I was doing you an injustice. I have heard the truth from Mrs. Blunt. You are free from all blame. We–we are fellow-sufferers.”

His tones were so mournful that Calder shook his hand with warm sympathy, and remarked, “Pretty rough, on us both, ain’t it?”

“For me,” declared Charlie, “everything is over. My trust in woman is destroyed; my pleasure in life is–“

“Well, I don’t feel A1 myself, old chap,” said Calder.

“I have written to–to her, to say good-by.”

“No, have yon, though?”

“What else could I do? Wentworth, do you suppose that, even if she was free, I would think of her for another moment? Can there be love where there is no esteem, no trust, no confidence?”

“I was just thinking that when you came up,” said Calder.

“No, at whatever cost, I–every self-respecting man–must consider first of all what he owes to his name, to his family, to his–Wentworth, to his unborn children.”

Calder nodded.

“You, of course,” pursued Charlie, “will be guided by your own judgment. As to that, the circumstances seal my lips.”

“I don’t like it, you know,” said Calder.

“As regards you, she may or may not have excuses. I don’t know; but she wilfully and grossly deceived me. I have done with her.”

“Gad, I believe you’re right, Merceron, old chap! A chap ought to stand up for himself, by Jove! You’d never feel safe with her, would you, by Jove?”

“Good-by,” said Charlie suddenly. “I leave Paddington by the 4.15.”

“Where are you off to?”

“Hell–I mean home,” answered Charlie.

Calder beat his stick against his leg.

“I can’t stay here either,” he said moodily.

Charlie stretched out his hand again.

“Come with me,” said he.

“Eh? what?”

“Come with me; we’ll forget her together.”

Calder looked at him.

“Well, you are a good chap. Dashed if I don’t. Yes, I will. We’ll enjoy ourselves like thunder. But I say, Merceron, I–I ought to write to her, oughtn’t I?”

“I am just going to write myself.”

“To–to say good-by, eh?”

“Yes.”

“I shall write and break it off.”

“Come along. We’ll go to your rooms and got the thing done, and then catch the train. My luggage is at the station now.”

“It won’t take me a minute to get mine.”

“Wentworth, I’m glad to be rid of her.”

“All–oh, well–so am I,” said Calder.

Late that evening the butler presented Miss Agatha Glyn with two letters on a salver. As her eye fell on the addresses, she started. Her heart began to beat. She sat and looked at the two momentous missives.

“Now which,” she thought, “shall I read first? And what shall I do, if they are both obstinate?”

There was another contingency which Miss Glyn did not contemplate.

After a long hesitation, she took up Charlie’s letter, and opened it. It was very short, and began abruptly without any words of address:

“I have received your letter. Your excuses make it worse. I could forgive everything except deceit. I leave London to-day. Good-by.–C. M.”

“Deceit!” cried Agatha. “How dare he? What a horrid boy!”

She was walking up and down the room in a state of great indignation. She had never been talked to like that in her life before. It was ungentlemanly, cruel, brutal. She flung Charlie’s letter angrily down on the table.

“I am sure poor dear old Calder won’t treat me like that!” she exclaimed, taking up his letter.

It ran thus: “My dear Agatha:–I hope you will believe that I write this without any feeling of anger towards you. My regard for you remains very great, and I hope we shall always be very good friends; but, after long and careful consideration, I have come to the conclusion that the story Lord Thrapston told, me shows conclusively what I have been fearing for some time past–namely, that I have not been so lucky as to win a real affection from you, and that we are not likely to make one another happy. Therefore, thanking you very much for your kindness in the past, I think I had better restore your liberty to you. I shall hear with, very great pleasure of your happiness. I leave town to day for a little while, in order that you may not be exposed to the awkwardness of meeting me.