"Never saw a young man more composed in all my life. And he couldn't be better satisfied with himself if he'd turned out to be a duke."
"We know Harry's airs," Iver said, smiling indulgently. "But there's stuff in him." A note of regret came into his voice. "He treated me very badly—I know Neeld won't admit it, but he did. Still I like him and I'd help him if I could."
"Well, he atoned for anything wrong by owning up in the end," remarked Southend.
"That wasn't for my sake or for—— Well, it had nothing to do with us. As far as we were concerned he'd be at Blent to-day. It was Cecily Gainsborough who did it."
"Yes. I wonder——"
Iver rose decisively. "Look here, Southend, if you're going to do exactly what all my friends and neighbors, beginning with Miss Swinkerton, are doing, I shall go and write letters." With a nod he walked
into the next room, leaving Neeld alone with his inquisitive friend. Southend lost no time.
"What's happened about Janie Iver? There was some talk——"
"It's all over," whispered Neeld with needless caution. "He released her, and she accepted the release."
"What, on the ground that——?"