She breathed a sigh of relief when it was over, and after a walk, during which neither ventured a word, she parted from Wentworth at the gate and rushed to her room.  She was furious with Hedin, furious with Wentworth, and furious with herself for being furious.

When he parted from Jean McNabb after the coasting party, Wentworth proceeded to the railway station, where he purchased his ticket and arranged with a truckman to call for his trunk at exactly eight o’clock.  Hastening to the hotel, he dressed for dinner.

This accomplished, he carefully locked his door, removed the coat from his trunk, concealed it within the folds of his own overcoat, and sat down to smoke a cigarette as he went over, step by step, his hastily conceived plan.  When the hands of his watch indicated that he would be precisely fifteen minutes late, he left the hotel, carrying the overcoat upon his arm.

The street into which he turned was deserted, and proceeding to a point opposite the Campbell residence, he stepped behind a huge maple tree and surveyed the brilliantly lighted house across the way.

“They’re late getting started.  I hope they are not waiting on my account,” he grinned, and drew closer into the shadow of the trees as a lone pedestrian passed along the opposite sidewalk.  Faintly to his ears came the sound of laughter, and then there was a general exodus toward the dining room.  With a sigh of relief, Wentworth crossed the street, rang the doorbell, and was admitted.

“That you, Captain Wentworth?” called his hostess.  “We waited for you until just this minute.”

“Awfully sorry to be late—­detestable thing to do—­going away in the morning—­thousand-and-one things to attend to—­be down in a moment to offer humble apology.”

Swiftly and silently Wentworth removed the coat from within his own, crossed the hall, substituted the baum marten for the Russian sable, and reentered the gentlemen’s dressing room, where it was but the work of a moment to conceal the garment within the folds of his coat.  Then he descended the stairs, entered the dining room, and seated himself in the vacant chair beside Jean McNabb.

The dinner went as dinners do and was brought to a rather abrupt termination by someone’s discovery that it lacked but five minutes to eight.  As the guests rose from the table Wentworth gave a startled exclamation.

“In my haste in dressing I forgot my pocketbook.  I distinctly recollect removing it from my pocket and tossing it upon the bed, and there I must have left it.”  He turned to Elsie Campbell.  “I hope you will pardon me if I hurry away but really, that pocketbook contains a rather large sum—­expense money you know—­and, I am almost certain that I neglected to lock my room.  I will join you at the door of the theatre; I can easily reach there before you, if I hurry.”

A moment later he rushed from the house with his overcoat upon his arm, and hurried to the hotel where, lifting the tray of his trunk, he deposited the sable coat, replaced the tray, locked and strapped the trunk, and finished just in time to respond to the knock of the truckman.  Five minutes later he was waiting at the theatre for the others, who appeared just before the rise of the curtain on the first act.