The date was rapidly approaching when he had arranged to leave England. Geoff's two young travelling companions were continually dropping in, full of eager talk of the journey and the work that was going to be accomplished at Venice. Day by day his gradually growing dislike of this proposed absence from London increased.
At length a mental crisis came. His many conflicting thoughts settled themselves into a resolution.
"I say, Jack," he announced one evening, "you had better go to Venice with those boys. I have just made up my mind that I'm not going. You can be ready in three days, can't you?"
Jack absolutely gasped.
"Why not? Why are you not going?"
"I prefer to stop in England. I—I—well, I suppose I may as well tell you. There's no reason for secrecy. I've seen the woman I want to marry."
Jack tried to look mystified and at a loss, as if thereby he could ward off the evil hour.
"Who is it?" he inquired.
"Why, you blind old bat, who should it be but—Miss Stornway?"
The blow had fallen.