“There’s one chance I shouldn’t like to miss,” said the youth.

“Then, do not mention it,” she counselled him.  “And, seriously, I will take a part of your risk.  I fear I am lucky, which is ruinous.  We will settle that, by-and-by.  Do you know, Algy, the most expensive position in the world is a widow’s.”

“You needn’t be one very long,” growled he.

“I’m so wretchedly fastidious, don’t you see?  And it’s best not to sigh when we’re talking of business, if you’ll take me for a guide.  So, the old man brought this pretty rustic Miss Rhoda to the Bank?”

“Once,” said Algernon.  “Just as he did with her sister.  He’s proud of his nieces; shows them and then hides them.  The fellows at the Bank never saw her again.”

“Her name is—?”

“Dahlia.”

“Ah, yes!—­Dahlia.  Extremely pretty.  There are brown dahlias—­dahlias of all colours.  And the portrait of this fair creature hangs up in your chambers in town?”

“Don’t call them my chambers,” Algernon protested.

“Your cousin’s, if you like.  Probably Edward happened to be at the Bank when fair Dahlia paid her visit.  Once seems to have been enough for both of you.”

Algernon was unread in the hearts of women, and imagined that Edward’s defection from Mrs. Lovell’s sway had deprived him of the lady’s sympathy and interest in his fortunes.

“Poor old Ned’s in some scrape, I think,” he said.

“Where is he?” the lady asked, languidly.

“Paris.”

“Paris?  How very odd!  And out of the season, in this hot weather.  It’s enough to lead me to dream that he has gone over—­one cannot realize why.”

“Upon my honour!” Algernon thumped on his knee; “by jingo!” he adopted a less compromising interjection; “Ned’s fool enough.  My idea is, he’s gone and got married.”

Mrs. Lovell was lying back with the neglectful grace of incontestable beauty; not a line to wrinkle her smooth soft features.  For one sharp instant her face was all edged and puckered, like the face of a fair witch.  She sat upright.

“Married!  But how can that be when we none of us have heard a word of it?”

“I daresay you haven’t,” said Algernon; “and not likely to.  Ned’s the closest fellow of my acquaintance.  He hasn’t taken me into his confidence, you maybe sure; he knows I’m too leaky.  There’s no bore like a secret!  I’ve come to my conclusion in this affair by putting together a lot of little incidents and adding them up.  First, I believe he was at the Bank when that fair girl was seen there.  Secondly, from the description the fellows give of her, I should take her to be the original of the portrait.  Next, I know that Rhoda has a fair sister who has run for it.  And last, Rhoda has had a letter from her sister, to say she’s away to the Continent and is married.  Ned’s in Paris.  Those are my facts, and I give you my reckoning of them.”