He spent the mild, autumn morning on the common consulting the ducks in the pond, and seeking inspiration from the lame donkey, his state of mind being still complicated.  The more he reflected on Emmy’s letter and on Wiggleswick’s views on women the less did he agree with Wiggleswick.  He missed Emmy, who had treated him very tenderly since their talk in the moonlight at Hottetot-sur-Mer; and he missed the boy who, in the later days in Paris, after her return, had conceived an infantile infatuation for him, and would cease crying or go to sleep peacefully if only he could gather a clump of Septimus’s hair in his tiny fingers.  He missed a thousand gossamer trifles—­each one so imperceptible, all added together so significant.  He was not in the least cosy and comfortable with his old villain of a serving-man.

Thus he looked forward, in his twilight way, to Emmy’s coming.  He would live, perhaps, sometimes in Nunsmere and sometimes in London.  Quite lately, on visiting his bankers, in order to make arrangements for the disposal of his income, he was surprised to find how rich he was; and the manager, an astoundingly well-informed person, explained that a commercial concern in which he held many shares had reached such a pitch of prosperity as to treble his dividends.  He went away with the vague notion that commercial companies were models of altruistic generosity.  The main point, however, made clear by the exceptionally intelligent manager, being that he was richer by several hundreds a year, he began to dream of a more resplendent residence for Emmy and the boy than the little flat in Chelsea.  He had observed that there were very nice houses in Berkeley Square.  He wondered how much a year they were, with rates and taxes.  For himself, he could perch in any attic close by.  He resolved to discuss Berkeley Square with Emmy as soon as she arrived.  William Octavius Oldrieve Dix, Member of Parliament, ought to start life in proper surroundings.

Clem Sypher, down for the week-end at Penton Court, burst in upon him during the afternoon.  He came with exciting news.  The high official in the Ordnance Department of the War Office had written to him that morning to the effect that he was so greatly impressed by the new quick-firing gun that he proposed to experiment forthwith, and desired to be put into communication with the inventor.

“That’s very nice,” said Septimus, “but shall I have to go and see him?”

“Of course,” cried Sypher.  “You’ll have to interview boards and gunners and engineers, and superintend experiments.  You’ll be a person of tremendous importance.”

“Oh, dear!” said Septimus, “I couldn’t.  I couldn’t, really.”

He was panic-stricken at the notion.

“You’ll have to,” laughed Sypher.

Septimus clutched at straws.  “I’m afraid I shall be too busy.  Emmy’s coming to London—­and there’s the boy’s education.  You see, he has to go to Cambridge.  Look here,” he added, a brilliant idea occurring to him, “I’m fearfully rich; I don’t want any more money.  I’ll sell you the thing outright for the two hundred pounds you advanced me, and then I shan’t have anything more to do with it.”