“But, Garry, there is never to be any escape from deception, it
   seems; I had to make her think I wanted to acknowledge and take
   up life with my husband.  My life is to be a living lie!...

   “As I expected, mother was shocked and grieved beyond words—­and,
   dearest, they are bitterly disappointed; they all had hoped it
   would be you.

   “She says there must positively be another ceremony.  I don’t know
   how dad will take it—­but mother is so good, so certain of his
   forgiving me.

“It wrings my heart—­the silent astonishment of Cecile and Gray—­and their trying to make the best of it, and mother, smiling for my sake, tender, forgiving, solicitous, and deep under all bitterly disappointed.  Oh, well—­she can bear that better than disgrace.

   “I’ve been crying over this letter; that’s what all this blotting
   means.

   “Now I can never see you again; never touch your hand, never look
   into those brown eyes again—­Garry!  Garry!—­never while life
   lasts.

   “I ask forgiveness for all the harm my love has done to you, for
   all the pain it has caused you, for the unhappiness that, please
   God, will not endure with you too long.

“I have tried to pray that the pain will not last too long for
you; I will try to pray that you may love another woman and
forget all this unhappiness.

“Think of me as one who died, loving you.  I cling to this paper
as though it were your hand.  But—­

“Dearest—­dearest—­Good-by.

“SHIELA CARDROSS.”

When Portlaw came in from his culinary conference he found Hamil scattering the black ashes of a letter among the cinders.

“Well, we’re going to try an old English receipt on those trout,” he began cheerfully—­and stopped short at sight of Hamil’s face.

“What’s the matter?” he asked bluntly.

“Nothing.”

Hamil returned to his chair and picked up a book; Portlaw looked at him for a moment, then, perplexed, sorted his mail and began to open the envelopes.

“Bills, bills,” he muttered, “appeals for some confounded foundlings’ hospital—­all the eternal junk my flesh is heir to—­and a letter from a lawyer—­let them sue!—­and a—­a—­hey! what the devil—­what the—­”

Portlaw was on his feet, startled eyes fairly protruding as he scanned incredulously the engraved card between his pudgy fingers.

“O Lord!” he bellowed; “it’s all up!  The entire bally business has gone up!  That pup of a Louis!—­Oh, there’s no use!—­Look here, Hamil!  I tell you I can’t believe it, I can’t, and I won’t—­Look what that fool card says!”

And Hamil’s stunned gaze fell on the engraved card: 

“Mr. and Mrs. Neville Cardross have the honour of announcing the marriage of their daughter Shiela to Mr. Louis Malcourt.”