been improving the acquaintance in Dublin." But Mrs. Adair already understood; and it was plain that the news was welcome. "Ethne Eustace!" she cried. "They will be married soon?" "There is nothing to prevent it." "I am glad," and the lady sighed as though with relief. "What is your second item?" "As good as the first. I go out on General Graham's staff." Mrs. Adair was silent. There came a look of anxiety into her eyes, and the colour died out of her face. "You are very glad, I suppose," she said slowly. Durrance's voice left her in no doubt. "I should think I was. I go soon, too, and the sooner the better. I will come and dine some night, if I may, before I go." "My husband will be pleased to see you," said Mrs. Adair, rather coldly. Durrance did not notice the coldness, however. He had his own reasons for making the most of the opportunity which had come his way; and he urged his enthusiasm, and laid it bare in words more for his own benefit than with any thought of Mrs. Adair. Indeed, he had always rather a vague impression of the lady. She was handsome in a queer, foreign way not so uncommon along the coasts of Devonshire and Cornwall, and she had good hair, and was always well dressed. Moreover, she was friendly. And at that point Durrance's knowledge of her came to an end. Perhaps her chief merit in his eyes was that she had made friends with Ethne Eustace. But he was to become better acquainted with Mrs. Adair. He rode away from the park with the old regret in his mind that the fortunes of himself and his friend were this morning finally severed. As a fact he had that morning set the strands of a new rope a-weaving which was to bring them together again in a strange and terrible relationship. Mrs. Adair followed him out of the park, and walked home very thoughtfully. Durrance had just one week wherein to provide his equipment and arrange his estate in Devonshire. It passed in a continuous hurry of preparation, so that his newspaper lay each day unfolded in his rooms. The general was