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“I think a chastened joy would be appropriate.”

“Don’t be an ass, Deane. I suppose you think you’re funny.”

Sir Roger passed on, with a smile on his lips. As he passed the reading-room Dora Bellairs came out.

“Well, Miss Dora, enjoyed your afternoon?”

“Oh, awfully–except that dreadful explosion.”

“You must excuse a friend, you know. I’m awfully glad it’s all come right in the end.”

“You–you’re very kind, Sir Roger. It’s–it’s–there’s nothing quite settled yet.”

“Oh, of course not, but still—-! Well, I heard all about it and I think he’s worthy of you. I can’t say more. He seems a capital fellow.”

“Yes, isn’t he? I—-“

“Yes?”

“Oh, I’m very, very, very happy,” and, after making this declaration in a shaky voice, she fairly ran away down the passage. Deane watched her as she went.

“Maud’s right,” said he. “She always is. There’s nothing for it but dynamite. I wonder where it’s to be got?”

General Bellairs clapped him on the shoulders.

“Inclined for a turn, Deane? I’m going to see an old servant of mine–Painter’s his name. He married my poor wife’s French maid, and set up as a restaurant-keeper in the Palais-Royal. I always look him up when I come to Paris.”

“I’m your man,” answered Deane, and they set out for Mr. Painter’s establishment. It proved to be a neat little place, neither of the very cheap nor of the very sumptuous class, and the General was soon promising to bring the whole party to dejeuner there. Painter was profuse in thanks and called Madame to thank the General. The General at once entered into conversation with the trim little woman.

“Nice place yours, Painter,” observed Deane.

“Pleased to hear you say so, Sir Roger.”

“Very nice. Ah–er–heard of the explosion?”

“Yes, Sir Roger. Abominable thing, sir. These Socialists—-“

“Quite so. Never had one here, I suppose?”

“No, sir. We’re pretty well looked after in here.”

“Like one?” asked Deane.

“Beg pardon, sir. Ha-ha. No, sir.”

“Because I want one.”

“You–beg pardon, sir?”

“Look here, Painter. I’ll drop in here after dinner for some coffee. I want to talk to you. See? Not a word to the General.”

“Glad to see you, Sir Roger, but—-“

“All right. I’ll put you up to it. Here they come. Present me to Madame.”

They went away, haying; arranged with the Painters for luncheon and a private room on the next day but one.

“Lunch for eight,” said Deane. “At least, General, I thought we might ask our friends from the European.”

“Yes–and young Laing.”

“Oh, I forgot him. Yes, Laing, of course. For nine–neuf, you know, please, madame.”

“That’s all right,” said the General, “I’m glad to do him a turn.”

“Yes, that’s all right,” assented Sir Roger, with the slightest possible chuckle. “We shall have a jolly lunch, eh, General?”

CHAPTER XII

ANOTHER!

“I shall never, never forgot your generosity, John.”

“No, Mary. It was your honesty and courage that did it.”

“I told Mr. Ellerton the whole story, and he seemed positively astonished.”

“And Miss Bellairs admitted that when she wrote she considered such a tiling utterly impossible. She’s changed a little, Mary. She’s not so cheerful and light-hearted as she used to be.”

“Think what she’s gone through. I’ve noticed just the same in Mr. Ellerton, but–“

“You hope to restore him soon?”

“Oh, well, I expect Miss Bellairs–what a pretty girl she is, John–will soon revive too, now she is with you again. John, have; you observed anything peculiar in Aunt Sarah’s manner?”

“To tell you the truth, I fancied she was rather short with me once or twice at dinner.”

“I believe she is–isn’t pleased at–at what’s happened. She hasn’t taken much to Mr. Ellerton, and you know she liked you so much, that I think she still wants you as one of the family.”

John laughed: then he leant forward and said in a low voice:

“Have you settled anything about dates?”

“No. Mr. Ellerton–well he didn’t introduce the subject: so of course I didn’t. Have you?”

“No, we haven’t. I made some suggestion of the kind, but Miss Bellairs didn’t fall in with it. She won’t even let me ask her father’s consent just yet.”