Lady Saxondale and Philip Quentin found themselves long after
midnight in talk about the coming marriage. Quentin was rather
silent. His thoughts seemed far from the room in which he sat, and
there was the shadow of a new line about the corners of his mouth.

"I am going to Brussels next week," he said, deliberately. The
others stared at him in amazement.

"To Brussels? You mean New York," said Lady Frances, faintly.

"New York won't see me for some time. I'm going to make a tour of
the continent.

"This is going too far, old man," cried Lord Bob. "You can't gain
anything by following her, and you'll only raise the devil of a row
all round. Dash it! stay in London."

"Thanks for the invitation, Bob, but I've always had a desire to
learn something about the miniature Paris. I shall spend some time
in Paris, and then go up there to compare the places. Besides, there
won't be any row."

"But there will be, Phil," cried Lady Saxondale. "You must keep out
of this affair. Why, all Europe knows of the wedding, and even now
the continent is quietly nursing the gossip of the past two weeks."
She dropped into a chair, perplexed and anxious.

"Let me tell you something, both of you. The events of the past two
weeks are tame in comparison with those of the next two months,"
said Quentin, a new light in his eye. His tall figure straightened