The moment Dinny had left, Adrian made the not uncommon discovery that he had promised what would need performance. To get one of His Majesty’s Counsel to commit himself — how? Too pointed to go to him! Impossible to pump a guest! Em, if he prompted her, would ask them both to dinner, especially if made to understand that the matter concerned Dinny; but even then —? He waited to consult Diana, and, after dining, went round to Mount Street. He found them playing piquet.

“Four kings,” said Lady Mont. “So old-fashioned — Lawrence and I and Mussolini. Have you come for something, Adrian?”

“Naturally, Em. I want you to ask Eustace Dornford to dinner, and me to meet him.”

“That’ll be Dinny. I can’t get Lawrence to be chivalrous; when I have four kings he always has four aces. When?”

“The sooner the better.”

“Ring, dear.”

Adrian rang.

“Blore, call up Mr. Dornford and ask him to dinner — black tie.”

“When, my lady?”

“The first evenin’ not in my book. Like dentists,” she added, as Blore withdrew. “Tell me about Dinny. She hasn’t been near us since the case.”

“The case,” repeated Sir Lawrence, “went much as one expected, didn’t you think, Adrian? Any repercussions?”

“Someone has settled the costs, and Dinny suspects Dornford.”

Sir Lawrence laid down his cards. “Bit too like a bid for her, that!”

“Oh, he won’t admit it, but she wants me to find out.”

“If he won’t admit it, why should he do it?”

“Knights,” murmured Lady Mont, “wearin’ a glove, and gettin’ killed, and nobody knowin’ whose glove. Yes, Blore?”

“Mr. Dornford will be happy to dine on Monday, my lady.”

“Put him in my book, then, and Mr. Adrian.”

“Go away with him after dinner, Adrian,” said Sir Lawrence, “and do it then — not so pointed; and, Em, not a hint, not even a sigh or a groan.”

“He’s a nice creature,” said Lady Mont, “so pale-brown . . .”

With the ‘nice creature so pale-brown’ Adrian walked away the following Monday night. Their directions were more or less the same, since Dornford was not yet in his new house. To Adrian’s relief, his companion seemed as glad of the opportunity as himself, for he began at once to talk of Dinny.

“Am I right in thinking something’s happened to Dinny lately — I don’t mean that case — but when she was ill and you went abroad together?”

“Yes. The man I told you of that she was in love with two years ago was drowned out in Siam.”

“Oh!”

Adrian stole a look. What should Dornford’s face express — concern, relief, hope, sympathy? It only wore a little frown.

“There was a question I wanted to ask you, Dornford. Someone had settled the costs granted against young Croom in that case.” The eyebrows were raised now, but the face said nothing. “I thought you might have known who. The lawyers will only say that it wasn’t the other side.”

“I’ve no idea.”

‘So!’ thought Adrian. ‘No nearer, except that, if a liar, he’s a good one!’

“I like young Croom,” said Dornford; “he’s behaved decently, and had hard luck. That’ll save him from bankruptcy.”

“Bit mysterious, though,” murmured Adrian.

“It is.”

‘On the whole,’ Adrian thought, ‘I believe he did. But what a poker face!’ He said, however:

“How do you find Clare since the case?”

“A little more cynical. She expressed her views on my profession rather freely when we were riding this morning.”

“Do you think she’ll marry young Croom?”

Dornford shook his head.

“I doubt it, especially if what you say about those costs is true. She might have out of a sense of obligation, but otherwise I think the case has worked against his chance. She’s no real feeling for him — at least that’s my view.”

“Corven disillusioned her thoroughly.”

“I’ve certainly seldom seen a more disillusioning face than his,” murmured Dornford. “But she seems to me headed for quite an amusing life on her own. She’s got pluck and, like all these young women now, she’s essentially independent.”

“Yes, I can’t see Clare being domestic.”

Dornford was silent. “Would you say that of Dinny, too?” he asked suddenly.

“Well, I can’t see Clare as a mother; Dinny I can. I can’t see Dinny here, there and everywhere; Clare I can. All the same — ‘domestic’ of Dinny! It’s not the word.”

“No!” said Dornford fervently. “I don’t know what is. You believe very mu............