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"So they're all gone except yourself, are they?" he said.
"I'm afraid they are," I answered.
"Well, if it had been the other way about, and you had gone and they had
stayed, by the stars of God, I _should_ have been disappointed. But
things being as they are, we'll muddle through, shan't we?"
Not all the vows in the world could prevent me from finding that answer
delightful, and when, on entering my boudoir, he said:
"Sorry to miss Madame though. I wanted a word with that lady before I
went down to the Antarctic," I could not resist the mischievous impulse
to show him Alma's letter.
While he read it his bright face darkened (for all the world like a
jeweller's window when the shutter comes down on it), and when he had
finished it he said once more:
"I hate that woman! She's like a snake. I'd like to put my foot on it."
And then--
"She may run away as much as she likes, but I _will_ yet, you go bail, I
will."
He was covered with dust and wanted to wash, so I rang for a maid, who
told me that Mr.


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