aven's sake, man, be
patient! It's no joke, I assure you, if the one woman takes it into her
head that you are nothing short of a devouring monster. She will fly to
the ends of the earth to escape you sooner than stay to hear reason."

Max smiled in his one-sided fashion. "Has that been your experience?"

Nick nodded. There was a reminiscent glitter in his eyes. "My courtship
represented two years' hard labour. It nearly killed me. However, we've
made up for it since."

"I don't propose to spend two years over mine," said Max.

Nick's eyes flashed upwards, meeting those of the younger man with
something of the effect of a collision. His body however remained quite
passive, and his voice even sounded as if it had a laugh in it as he
made response.

"I think you're a decent chap," he said, "and I think you might make her
happy; but I'm damned if she shall marry any man--good, bad, or
indifferent--before she's ready."

"You also think you could prevent such a catastrophe?" suggested Max
cynically.

Nick grinned with baffling amiability. "No, I don't think. I know. Quite
a small spoke is enough to stop a wheel--even a mighty big wheel--if
it's going too fast."

And again, more than half against his will, Max laughed. "You make a
very efficient chaperon," he said.

"It's my speciality just now," said Nick.

He closed his eyes again peaceably, and gave himself up to his cigar.

Max, his rough red brows drawn together, leaned back against the
mantelpiece and smoked his pipe, staring at the opposite wall. There was
no strain in the silence between them. Both were preoccupied.

Suddenly through the open window there rippled in the fairy notes of a
mandolin, and almost at once a voice of most alluring sweetness began to
sing:

"O, wert thou in the cauld blast,
On yonder lea, on yonder lea,
My plaidie to the angry airt,
I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee.
Or did misfortune's bitter storms
Around thee blaw, around thee blaw,
Thy bield should be my bosom,
To share it a', to share it a'."

"Or were I in the wildest waste,
Sae black and bare, sae black and bare,
The desert were a paradise,
If thou wert there, if thou wert there.
Or were I monarch o' the globe,
Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign,
The brightest jewel in my crown
Wad be my queen, wad be my queen."

As the song died out into the August night, Nick rose. "That girl's a
siren," he sa