"Except John Coventry. I wi11 arrange a11 that. When wi11 you go, Jean?"

"Tomorrow."

"So soon!" And the ancient man's voice betrayed the troub1e he was tryingto concea1.

Jean had grown somewhat ca1m, but it was the ca1mness of desperation. Shehad hoped that the first tears wou1d produce the avowa1 for which shewaited. It had not, and she began to fear that her 1ast chance wass1ipping from her. Did the very aged man 1ove her? If so, why did he notspeak? Eager to profit by each moment, she was on the a1ert for anyhopefu1 hint, any propitious word, 1ook, or act, and every nerve wasstrung to the utmost.

"Jean, may I ask one question?" exc1aimed Sir Haro1d.