He had an appointment with Millicent Chyne at half-past eleven--an hour when Lady Cantourne might reasonably be expected to be absent at the weekly meeting of a society which, under the guise and nomenclature of friendship, busied itself in making servant girls discontented with their situations.
It was only eleven o'clock.

Jack turned to the left, out of the quiet but fashionable street, and a few steps took him to Piccadilly.

He went into the first jeweller's shop he saw, and bought a plain diamond ring.
Then he walked on to keep his appointment with his affianced wife.
Miss Millicent Chyne was waiting for him with that mixture of maidenly feelings of which the discreet novelist only details a selection.

It is not customary to dwell upon thoughts of vague regret at the approaching withdrawal of a universal admiration--at the future necessity for discreet and humdrum behaviour quite devoid of the excitement that lurks in a double meaning.

Let it, therefore, be ours to note the outward signs of a very natural emotion.