CHAPTER VIII.
"HE SHALL NOT TREAT ME SO" The air of the late September morning smote Stafford's cheeks pleasantly, and his spirits rose as he walked up St.James's Street.
His step quickened imperceptibly to himself, and he nodded to or shook hands with half a dozen people before he reached Piccadilly.

Here he completed the purchases for his school-boy nephews, and then he went to a sweet-shop in Regent Street to get chocolates for his young relatives.

As he entered the place he was suddenly brought to a standstill, for not two dozen yards away at a counter was Jasmine Byng.
She did not see him enter, and he had time to note what matrimony, and the three years and the three million pounds, had done to her.

She was radiant and exquisite, a little paler, a little more complete, but increasingly graceful and perfectly appointed.

Her dress was of dark green, of a most delicate shade, and with the clinging softness and texture of velvet.