“What do you think of that?” she exclaimed.

“Better than anything you ever did!”

“True enough!  That’s Kite.  Don’t you recognise his type?”

“One thinks of Ariadne,” said Piers, “but the face won’t do for her.”

“Yes, it’s Ariadne—­but I doubt if I shall have the brutality to finish out my idea.  She is to have lying on the sand by her a case of Higginson’s Hair-wash, stranded from a wreck, and a bottle of it in her hand.  See the notion?  Her despair consoled by discovery of Higginson!”

They laughed, but Piers broke off in half-serious anger.

“That’s damnable!  You won’t do it.  For one thing, the mob wouldn’t understand.  And in heaven’s name do spare the old stories!  I’m amazed that Kite should consent to it.”

“Poor old fellow!” said Miss Bonnicastle, with an indulgent smile, “he’ll do anything a woman asks of him.  But I shan’t have the heart to spoil it with Higginson; I know I shan’t.”

“After all,” Piers replied, “I don’t know why you shouldn’t.  What’s the use of our scruples?  That’s the doom of everything beautiful.”

“We’ll talk about it another time.  I can’t stop now.  I have an appointment.  Stay here if you like, and worship Ariadne.  I shouldn’t wonder if Olga looks round this morning, and it’ll disappoint her if there’s nobody here.”

Piers was embarrassed.  He had asked Olga to meet him, and wondered whether Miss Bonnicastle knew of it.  But she spared him the necessity of any remark by speeding away at once, bidding him slam the door on the latch when he departed.

In less than ten minutes, there sounded a knock without, and Piers threw the door open.  It was Olga, breathing rapidly after her ascent of the stairs, and a startled look in her eyes as she found herself face to face with Otway.  He explained his being here alone.

“It is kind of you to have come!”

“Oh, I have enjoyed the walk.  A delicious morning!  And how happy one feels when the church bells suddenly stop!”

“I have often known that feeling,” said Piers merrily.  “Isn’t it wonderful, how London manages to make things detestable which are pleasant in other places!  The bells in the country!—­But sit down.  You look tired——­”

She seated herself, and her eyes turned to the beautiful figure on the wall.  Piers watched her countenance.

“You have seen it already?” he said.

“A few days ago.”

“You know who did it?”

“Mr. Kite, I am told,” she answered absently.  “And,” she added, after a pause, “I think he disgraced himself by lending his art to such a purpose.”

Piers said nothing, and looked away to hide his smile of pleasure.

“I asked you to come,” were his next words, “to show you a letter I have had from John Jacks’ solicitors.”

Glancing at him with surprise, Olga took the letter he held out, and read it.  In this communication, Piers Otway was informed that the will of the late Mr. Jacks bequeathed to him the capital which the testator had invested in the firm of Moncharmont & Co., and the share in the business which it represented.