"Of course. But we are out for big money this time, remember."
"You have examined the whole affair, I suppose, and considered it from every standpoint—eh?"
"Of course I have. As far as I can discover, there is no flaw in our armour. This young solicitor is newly married, and is much gratified that the wealthy Mrs. Morrison should take such notice of his young wife. But you know Ena well enough to be sure that she plays the game all right. She's the rich widow to the very letter, and talks about her 'dear husband' in a manner that is really pathetic. She declares that they were such a devoted couple."
"Yes. Ena can play the game better than any woman in England," agreed his wife. "Have some tea?"
"No; it's too hot," he replied. "Get me some lemonade."
And she rose, and presently brought him a glass of lemonade. She preferred to wait upon him, for she was always suspicious of the maids trying to listen to their conversation, which, however, was discreet and well guarded.
That night at about half-past nine, husband and wife having dined together tête-à-tête—being waited on by the smart young Italian footman—Ena Pollen was ushered into the drawing-room.
"Oh! Welcome back, dear!" cried Mrs. Braybourne, jumping up and embracing her friend, making pretence, of course, before the servant. "Sit down. I had no idea you were in London! I thought you were somewhere in the wilds of Wales."
Then, when the door had closed, her attitude altered to one of deep seriousness.
"Well," she said, "according to Bernie, everything goes well, doesn't it?"