William did not go to the office at all that day, and Bertram did not touch his brushes.

Only Cyril attended to his usual work: practising for a coming concert, and correcting the proofs of his new book, "Music in Russia." At ten minutes before five William, anxious-eyed and nervous, found himself at the North Station.

Then, and not till then, did he draw a long breath of relief.
"There! I think everything's ready," he sighed to himself.

"At last!" He wore no pink in his buttonhole.

There was no need that he should accede to that silly request, he told himself.