The Wheel of Love. Anthony Hope

knows,” she murmured.

      “Nobody shall through me.”

      “You’re not very—? I’m very ashamed.”

      “Why? And because of me! After what I’ve told you!”

      Charlie rose suddenly.

      “I’m not going to stand it,” he announced.

      Dora looked up eagerly.

      “What? You’re going to——?”

      “I’m going to have a shot at it. Am I to stand by and see her——? I’m hanged if I do. Could that be right?”

      “I should like to know what one’s duty is?”

      “This talk with you has made me quite clear. We’ve reasoned it out, you see. They’re not to be married for two or three months. A lot can be done in that time.”

      “Ah, you’re a man!”

      “I shall write first. If that doesn’t do, I shall go to her.”

      Dora shook her head mournfully.

      “Now, look here, Miss Bellairs you don’t mind me advising you?”

      “I ought not to have let you see, but as it is—”

      “You do as I do, you stick to it. Confound it, you know, when one’s life’s happiness is at stake——”

      “Oh, yes, yes!”

      “One mustn’t be squeamish, must one?”

      And Dora Bellairs, in a very low whisper, answered, “No.”

      “I shall write to-night.”

      “Oh! To-night?”

      “Yes. Now promise me you will too.”

      “It’s harder for me than you.”

      “Not if he really——”

      “Oh, indeed, he really does, Mr. Ellerton.”

      “Then you’ll write?”

      “Perhaps.”

      “No. Promise!”

      “Well—it must be right. Yes, I will.”

      “I feel the better for our talk, Miss Bellairs, don’t you?”

      “I do a little.”

      “We shall be friends now, you know; even if I bring it off I shan’t be content unless you do too. Won’t you give me your good wishes?”

      “Indeed I will.”

      “Shake hands on it.”

      They shook hands and began to stroll back to the tennis-courts.

      “They look a little better,” observed Sir Roger Deane, who had been listening to an eloquent description of the gaming-tables.

      Dora and Charlie walked on towards the hotel.

      “Hi!” shouted Sir Roger. “Tea’s coming out here.”

      “I’ve got a letter to write,” said Charlie.

      “Well, Miss Bellairs, you must come. Who’s to pour it out?”

      “I must catch the post, Sir Roger,” answered Dora.

      They went into the house together. In the hall they parted.

      “You’ll let me know what happens, Mr. Ellerton, won’t you? I’m so interested.”

      “And you?”

      “Oh—well, perhaps,” and the sallow of her cheeks had turned to a fine dusky red as she ran upstairs.

      Thus it happened that a second letter for John Ashforth and a second letter for Mary Travers left Cannes that night.

      And if it seems a curious coincidence that Dora and Charlie should meet at Cannes, it can only be answered that they were each of them just as likely to be at Cannes as anywhere else. Besides, who knows that these things are all coincidence?