“Well, that is the best piece of news I have received for many a day—­for you don’t seem heartbroken, Linn.  And now—­have you any plans?—­perhaps you have hardly had time?—­”

He was looking at Lionel—­wondering whether the same idea was in both their heads—­and yet afraid to speak.

“Maurice,” Lionel said, presently, with some hesitation, “tell me—­could I ask Nina—­look at me—­such a wreck—­could I ask her to become my wife?  It’s about Capri I am thinking—­we could go together there, when I am a bit stronger—­”

There was a flash of satisfaction in the deep-set, friendly gray eyes.

“This is what I expected, Linn.  Well, put the question to herself—­and the sooner the better!”

“Yes, but—­” Lionel said, as if afraid.

“Oh, I know,” Maurice said, confidently.  “Tell Nina that you are not yet quite recovered—­that you have need of her care—­and she will go to the world’s end with you.  Only you must get married first, for the sake of appearances.”

“What will she say, Maurice?” he asked again, as if there were some curious doubt, or perhaps merely timidity, in his mind.

“I think I know, but I am not going to tell,” his friend answered, lightly.  “I am off up-stairs now.  I will send Nina down; but without a word of warning.  You’ll have to lead up to it yourself—­and good-luck to you, my boy!” And therewith Maurice departed to seek out Nina in the chamber above; and as he went up the stairs he was saying to himself, “Well, well; and so Miss Burgoyne did that of her own free will?  I may have done the young woman some injustice.  Perhaps she is not so selfish and hard after all.  Wish I had been more civil to her.”

Meanwhile Miss Burgoyne and her brother were walking in the direction of Regent Street.

“Now, Jim,” she said, with almost a gay air, “I have just completed a most delicate and difficult negotiation, and I feel quite exhausted.  You must take me into a restaurant and give me the very nicest and neatest bit of luncheon you can possibly devise—­all pretty little trifles, for we mustn’t interfere with dinner; and I am going to see how you can do it—­”

“Well, but, Katie,” he said, frowning, “where do you suppose—­”

“Oh, don’t he stupid!” she exclaimed, slipping her purse into his hand.  “I am going to judge of your savoir faire; I will see whether you get a nice table; whether you order the proper things; whether you command sufficient attention—­”

“I was never taught to bully waiters,” said he.

“To bully waiters!—­is that your notion of savoir faire?” she answered, lightly.  “My dear Jim, the bullying of a waiter is the most obvious and outward sign of the ingrained, incurable cad.  No, no.  That is what I do not expect of you, Jim.  And I am going to leave the whole affair in your hands; for while you are ordering for me a most elegant little luncheon, I have an extremely important letter to send off.”