The night was chilly, and her suspense made her cold.  She sat very close to the fire in the cosy curtained hall, shivering, and straining her ears to catch the sound of his feet on the gravel.  She had worked herself into a state of anxiety that made her start at the faintest noise.

It was nearing the dinner-hour, and she was beginning to wonder if perhaps he were staying at Baronmead to dine, though he had never done so before without sending her word, when there came the sudden hoot of a motor and the rush of wheels upon the drive.

She sat up, every pulse beating.  It must be one of the Baronmead motors.  But Bertie always walked.

She heard the car stop at the door, and she rose to her feet, scarcely knowing what to expect.  The next moment the door opened and she heard Bertie’s voice.

“The car will be all right,” he said.  “It’s a fine night.  Go in, won’t you?  I expect Dot is waiting.”

And with amazement Dot saw Nap enter the hall in front of her husband.

He came straight to her just as he had come on the previous day, and she had a moment of sheer panic lest he should have the effrontery to kiss her; but he spared her this, though the smile with which he greeted her told her that he was quite aware of her embarrassment and its cause.

“Bertie has taken upon himself to ask me to dine,” he said, as he held her hand.  “I hope that is quite agreeable to Mrs. Bertie?”

“Of course I am delighted,” she said, but her eyes sought Bertie’s somewhat anxiously notwithstanding.

She saw with relief that the cloud had gone from his face.  He came forward, bent, and kissed her.  His hand lay upon her shoulder for an instant with a quick, reassuring touch, and she knew that all was well.

“Heavens, child!  How cold you are!” he said.  “I’ll bring you down a shawl, shall I?  Come along, Nap.  We are late.”

They went upstairs together, and Dot waited below, listening to their voices in careless converse and wondering by what means Lucas had wrought so amazing a change.

She wondered still more during dinner, for Nap was plainly upon his best behaviour.  He seemed determined that Bertie should be on easy terms with him, and he was in a great measure successful.  Though reticent, Bertie was undoubtedly cordial.

At the appearance of dessert Nap rose.  “I must be getting back to Lucas,” he said.

“Oh, skittles!  He won’t be wanting you,” Bertie protested.  “Sit down again, man.  You haven’t been here an hour.”

But Nap was not to be persuaded.  “Many thanks, but I’m going all the same.  I want to secure him a good night if possible.  Good-bye, Mrs. Bertie!” He bent and kissed her hand.  “I am going to be pretty busy for the next week or two, but I shall call on you when I have time.”

He took a cigarette from Bertie’s case, and went out without stopping to light it.

Bertie followed him into the hall.  “Shall I come?” he asked.