"That Ned has been shot? How cruel of you."
"No, no, no! You must be aware that I am glad, because——"
"I haven't time to listen now," said Mona, her face crimson and her eyes very bright. "I have to send a telegram."
"To whom?" demanded Prelice as she disappeared through the hall.
"To Dr. Horace," came back the reply; and then the young man in addition to his other puzzled thoughts had this new one concerning his former fellow-traveller.
"I wonder what she wants with Horace?" he asked himself.
The answer came at dinner, when Mona was in the safe presence of Ned, and Prelice could make no demonstration of the feelings he had for her—feelings which she had guessed long since existed. Shepworth's wound, which was worse than he admitted, had been bound up, and he was in very good spirits. Mona, startled by the events of the afternoon, looked pale, and was rather restless. But Prelice said nothing. In the first place, he could not in the presence of a third party, even though that party was his school-chum; and in the second, he was too happy to speak much. All he could do, and did do, was to fill his eyes and heart with the pale beauty of Mona Chent. After all, the gods had been very good to him by removing an apparently impassable barrier.
It was Shepworth who asked why Mona had sent the wire to Dr. Horace, and Prelice listened with great interest to her reply.
"After the case," explained the girl, more to Martaban than to the young men, "Dr. Horace sent and congratulated me on the verdict. Also he wrote a note saying that if Jadby proved dangerous—those were his words—that I was to wire to him, and he would draw Jadby's teeth—his own words again, Mr. Martaban."
"Do you know Dr. Horace?" asked the solicitor, looking puzzled.