“They suit you, Asher, but you still go in at the waist, and brown trousers look well on legs as straight as billiard cues.”

“Is there nothing we can do for you, Sir Owen?”

Owen spoke about sending back a coat which he was not altogether satisfied with.

“Every suit of clothes I have, Harding, costs me fifty pounds.”

Harding raised his thick eyebrows, and Owen explained that only one suit in six was worth wearing.

“There is more truth in what you say than appears.  I once wore a suit of clothes for six years!  And they were as good as new when—­”

But Owen refused to be interested in Harding’s old clothes.  “If I’m not married to-morrow I shall never marry.  You don’t believe me, Harding?  Now, of what are you thinking?  Of that suit of clothes which you have had for six years or of my marriage—­which?”

At the moment that Owen interrupted him Harding was thinking that perhaps a woman who had attempted suicide to escape from another man would not drift as easily into marriage as Owen thought; but, of course, he did not dare to confess such an opinion.

“You don’t mind dining at half-past seven?”

“Not in the least, my good friend, not in the least.”  Going towards Berkeley Square they continued to speak about Evelyn....  She would have to refuse Owen to-night or accept him:  so he would know his fate to-night.

“Just fancy,” he said, “to-morrow I am either going to be married or—­” And he stared into the depths of a picture about which he thought he would like to have Harding’s opinion, but it did not matter what anybody thought of pictures until he knew what Evelyn was going to do.  None had any interest for him; but they could not talk of Evelyn during dinner, the room being full of servants, and he was forced to listen to Harding, who was rather tiresome on the subject of how a collection of pictures had better be formed, and the proposal to go to France to seek for an Ingres did not appeal to him.

“I hope you don’t mind my smoking a pipe,” Harding said as they rose from table.

“No,” he said, “smoke what you like, I don’t care; smoke in my study, only raise the window.  But you’ll excuse me, Harding.  My appointment is for eight.”

As he was about to leave the room a footman came in, saying that Miss Innes’ maid would like to see him, and, guessing that something had happened, Owen said: 

“It is to tell me I’m not to go to see her; something disagreeable always—­” And he left the room abruptly.

“I have shown the maid into the morning-room, Sir Owen.”

“Now, what is the matter, Merat?”

“Perhaps you had better read the letter first, Sir Owen, and then we can talk.”

“I can’t read without my glasses; do you read it, Merat.”  Without waiting for her to answer he returned to the dining-room.  “I have forgotten my glasses, Harding, that is all; you will wait for me.”  His hand trembled as he tried to fix the glasses on his nose.