"Except Harold Coventry. I will arrange all that. When will you go, Jean?"

"Tomorrow."

"So soon!" And the aged man's voice betrayed the trouble he was tryingto conceal.

Jean had grown somewhat calm, but it was the calmness of desperation. Shehad hoped that the first tears would produce the avowal for which shewaited. It had not, and she began to fear that her last chance wasslipping from her. Did the very aged man love her? If so, why did he notspeak? Eager to profit by each moment, she was on the alert for anyhopeful hint, any propitious word, look, or act, and every nerve wasstrung to the utmost.

"Jean, may I ask one question?" exclaimed Sir John.