’As you please.  But let the solicitor exercise his own discretion as to damages.’

‘Damages!’ Shergold pondered the word.  ’I suppose she won’t drag me into court—­make a public ridicule of me?  If so, there’s an end of my hopes.  I couldn’t go among people after that.’

’I don’t see why not.  But your solicitor will probably manage the affair.  They have their methods,’ Munden added drily.

Early the next morning Shergold despatched a telegram to Maze Pond, addressed to his landlady.  It said that he would be kept away by business for a day or two.  On Friday he attended his uncle’s funeral, and that evening he left Charing Cross with Harvey Munden, en route for Como.

There, a fortnight later, Shergold received from his solicitor a communication which put an end to his feigning of repose and hopefulness.  That he did but feign, Harvey Munden felt assured; signs of a troubled conscience, or at all events of restless nerves, were evident in all his doing and conversing; now he once more made frank revelation of his weakness.

’There’s the devil to pay.  She won’t take money.  She’s got a lawyer, and is going to bring me into court.  I’ve authorised Reckitt to offer as much as five thousand pounds,—­it’s no good.  He says her lawyer has evidently encouraged her to hope for enormous damages, and then she’ll have the satisfaction of making me the town-talk.  It’s all up with me, Munden.  My hopes are vanished like—­what is it in Dante?—­il fumo in aere ed in aqua la schiuma!’

Smoking a Cavour, Munden lay back in the shadow of the pergola, and seemed to disdain reply.

‘Your advice?’

’What’s the good of advising a man born to be fooled?  Why, let the ——­ do her worst!’

Shergold winced.

‘We mustn’t forget that it’s all my fault.’

‘Yes, just as it’s your own fault you didn’t die on the day of your birth!’

‘I must raise the offer—­’

’By all means; offer ten thousand.  I suppose a jury would give her two hundred and fifty.’

‘But the scandal—­the ridicule—­’

’Face it.  Very likely it’s the only thing that would teach you wisdom and save your life.’

‘That’s one way of looking at it.  I half believe it might be effectual.’

He kept alone for most of the day.  In the evening, from nine to ten, he went upon the lake with Harvey, but could not talk; his blue eyes were sunk in a restless melancholy, his brows were furrowed, he kept making short, nervous movements, as though in silent remonstrance with himself.  And when the next morning came, and Harvey Munden rang the bell for his coffee, a waiter brought him a note addressed in Shergold’s hand.  ’I have started for London,’ ran the hurriedly written lines.  ’Don’t be uneasy; all I mean to do is to stop the danger of a degrading publicity; the fear of that is too much for me.  I have an idea, and you shall hear how I get on in a few days.’