Gresham would be glad to retrieve the family fortunes. With Hildegarde married—well, Ethel and he might make a go of it. One couldn't live on the heights forever!
He went to the writing table and dashed off a note to his daughter. He would see that she got it the first thing in the morning. With Bobby up her sleeve, she could face Neale with serenity. It would be like a scene in a comedy. The villain foiled . . . ! He leaned back in his chair and laughed. Old Neale wasn't so bad. They had been great friends. But nobody could put it over like that on Hildegarde.
It was characteristic of Carew that with his change of mood he should find himself forgiving his enemy. Poor old chap . . . the blow to his pride had been shattering. Neale was thin-skinned—and Sally had flouted him! And the world would laugh!
So, when on his way to his room a little later, he passed Neale's door, he knocked. Neale, opening it, showed himself wrapped in a gorgeous Eastern gown. "Well?" he asked.
"Look here," Louis said, "What about that engagement we have for tomorrow morning—to shoot on Flat Island?"
"It's off, of course."
"But why? Why not call a truce temporarily? There are always women to marry, Neale. But there aren't always birds to shoot."
Winslow stared at him. "Do you mean you'll go out with me?"
"Why not? We'll have from five-thirty to nine. Breakfast at Christopher's before sunrise and the re-
