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 She flung her arms round her lawful critic, deposited her head upon his shoulder, and Walter gave her what he considered to be a triumphant kiss.

"Now then," he said cheerfully, " that's all right. I forgive you; we understand each other. I have no doubt you did the right thing; I have no doubt Dolly has done the right thing; I am sure Sam Swynford has; and I am quite sure that Philip Forsyth has behaved shamefully."

"Walter, you are a darling!" exclaimed his wife, returning his kiss. "And now, what are your plans?"

"To get out of Venice at once as you proposed," said Walter; and, as he said so, they both, by mutual impulse, left the balcony as if to pack; but they were both attracted by the entrance of the manager of the hotel.

"A letter," he said, "very urgent, for Mr. Milbanke."

Walter opened it. It was from Philip Forsyth—only a few lines:—

"Forgive me. Accept my abject regrets and apologies. Dolly will easily forgive me. I am utterly unworthy of her and of your friendship. Tell her so. We shall probably never meet again. I have left Venice on a long journey. My conduct on the night of the Countess Stravensky's reception may explain my change of plans and life. I feel it due to you to say this. No one need be alarmed as to my safety. I have written to my mother. If ever you and yours think of me again, remember me when most I seemed entitled to your respect and esteem.

"PHILIP FORSYTH."

"Thank you," said Walter, turning to the manager. "There is no answer."

"The messenger did not wait," said the manager.

"You have instructions to forward on the remainder of Mr. Forsyth's baggage?"

"Yes, sir, it goes to Paris."

"I am sorry," said Walter, "to tell you that this has broken up our little party. We shall leave to-morrow for the lakes and Switzerland; but we are very much in-