I had an anxious walk home from the station that evening; I went round by the longer way, trembling the whole time lest I should meet any of the Currie household, to which I felt myself entirely unequal just then.  I could not rest until I knew whether my fraud had succeeded, or if the poodle to which I had intrusted my fate had basely betrayed me; but my suspense was happily ended as soon as I entered my mother’s room.  “You can’t think how delighted those poor Curries were to see Bingo again,” she said at once; “and they said such charming things about you, Algy—­Lilian particularly; quite affected she seemed, poor child!  And they wanted you to go round and dine there and be thanked to-night, but at last I persuaded them to come to us instead.  And they’re going to bring the dog to make friends.  Oh, and I met Frank Travers; he’s back from circuit again now, so I asked him in too to meet them!”

I drew a deep breath of relief.  I had played a desperate game, but I had won!  I could have wished, to be sure, that my mother had not thought of bringing in Travers on that of all evenings, but I hoped that I could defy him after this.

The colonel and his people were the first to arrive, he and his wife being so effusively grateful that they made me very uncomfortable indeed; Lilian met me with downcast eyes and the faintest possible blush, but she said nothing just then.  Five minutes afterward, when she and I were alone together in the conservatory, where I had brought her on pretence of showing a new begonia, she laid her hand on my sleeve and whispered, almost shyly, “Mr. Weatherhead—­Algernon!  Can you ever forgive me for being so cruel and unjust to you?” And I replied that, upon the whole, I could.

We were not in the conservatory long, but before we left it beautiful Lilian Roseblade had consented to make my life happy.  When we reentered the drawing-room we found Frank Travers, who had been told the story of the recovery; and I observed his jaw fall as he glanced at our faces, and noted the triumphant smile which I have no doubt mine wore, and the tender, dreamy look in Lilian’s soft eyes.  Poor Travers!  I was sorry for him, although I was not fond of him.  Travers was a good type of rising young common-law barrister, tall, not bad-looking, with keen dark eyes, black whiskers, and the mobile forensic mouth which can express every shade of feeling, from deferential assent to cynical incredulity; possessed, too, of an endless flow of conversation that was decidedly agreeable, if a trifling too laboriously so, he had been a dangerous rival.  But all that was over now; he saw it himself at once, and during dinner sank into dismal silence, gazing pathetically at Lilian, and sighing almost obtrusively between the courses.  His stream of small talk seemed to have been cut off at the main.

“You’ve done a kind thing, Weatherhead,” said the colonel.  “I can’t tell you all that dog is to me, and how I missed the poor beast.  I’d quite given up all hope of ever seeing him again, and all the time there was Weatherhead, Mr. Travers, quietly searching all London till he found him!  I sha’n’t forget it.  It shows a really kind feeling.”