“Unfortunately, it seems to me they simply can,” said Inglewood, with a depressed air.  “I have far less right of intervention than Miss Duke, besides having, of course, far less moral force than she.”

“You haven’t either of you got much,” cried Rosamund, the last stays of her formidable temper giving way; “I think I’ll go somewhere else for a little sense and pluck.  I think I know some one who will help me more than you do, at any rate... he’s a cantankerous beast, but he’s a man, and has a mind, and knows it...”  And she flung out into the garden, with cheeks aflame, and the parasol whirling like a Catherine wheel.

She found Michael Moon standing under the garden tree, looking over the hedge; hunched like a bird of prey, with his large pipe hanging down his long blue chin.  The very hardness of his expression pleased her, after the nonsense of the new engagement and the shilly-shallying of her other friends.

“I am sorry I was cross, Mr. Moon,” she said frankly.  “I hated you for being a cynic; but I’ve been well punished, for I want a cynic just now.  I’ve had my fill of sentiment—­I’m fed up with it.  The world’s gone mad, Mr. Moon—­all except the cynics, I think.  That maniac Smith wants to marry my old friend Mary, and she—­ and she—­doesn’t seem to mind.”

Seeing his attentive face still undisturbedly smoking, she added smartly, “I’m not joking; that’s Mr. Smith’s cab outside.  He swears he’ll take her off now to his aunt’s, and go for a special licence.  Do give me some practical advice, Mr. Moon.”

Mr. Moon took his pipe out of his mouth, held it in his hand for an instant reflectively, and then tossed it to the other side of the garden.  “My practical advice to you is this,” he said:  “Let him go for his special licence, and ask him to get another one for you and me.”

“Is that one of your jokes?” asked the young lady.  “Do say what you really mean.”

“I mean that Innocent Smith is a man of business,” said Moon with ponderous precision—­“a plain, practical man:  a man of affairs; a man of facts and the daylight.  He has let down twenty ton of good building bricks suddenly on my head, and I am glad to say they have woken me up.  We went to sleep a little while ago on this very lawn, in this very sunlight.  We have had a little nap for five years or so, but now we’re going to be married, Rosamund, and I can’t see why that cab...”

“Really,” said Rosamund stoutly, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“What a lie!” cried Michael, advancing on her with brightening eyes.  “I’m all for lies in an ordinary way; but don’t you see that to-night they won’t do?  We’ve wandered into a world of facts, old girl.  That grass growing, and that sun going down, and that cab at the door, are facts.  You used to torment and excuse yourself by saying I was after your money, and didn’t really love you.  But if I stood here now and told you I didn’t love you—­you wouldn’t believe me:  for truth is in this garden to-night.”