useful to Jenny Driver became, by the mere force of that possible
utility, morally right--conduct, so to speak, becoming to an officer and
a gentleman. I was not, of course, at all aware that my insidious
doubt--or, rather, my puzzling discontent with myself--could lead to any
such chasm as that.

I ate my chop and tried to settle down to my books. First I tried
theology, the study of which I had by no means abandoned. But I was not
theologically inclined that night. Then I took up a magazine; politics
emphatically would not do! I fell back on anthropology, and got on there
considerably better. Yet presently my attention wandered even from that.
I sat with the book open before me, at a page where three members of the
Warramunga tribe were represented in adornments that, on an ordinary
evening, would have filled me with admiration. No, I was languid about
it. The last thing I remembered was hearing the back door locked--which
meant that the Fields were going to bed. After that I fail to trace
events, but I imagine that I speedily fell sound asleep--with the book
open before me and my pipe lying by it on the table.

I awoke with a little shiver, pretended to myself that I had never
stopped reading, gave up the pretence, pushed back my chair from the
table, rose, and turned to the fire behind me.

In my old leather arm-chair sat Jenny Driver.

She wore a black evening dress, with a cloak of brown fur thrown open in
front--both, no doubt, new acquisitions. The fire had died down to a
small heap of bright red embers. When first I saw her, she was crouching
close over it--the night was chilly--and her face was red with its glow.

"Miss Driver! I--I'm afraid I've been asleep," I stammered. "Have you
been here long?"

She glanced at the clock; it was half-past ten. "About twenty minutes.
I've had a good look round--at your room, and your books, and that queer
picture which seems to have sent you to sleep. Your room's very
comfortable."

"Yes, it's a jolly little room," I agreed. "But what----?"

"And I've had a good look at you, too," she continued. "Do you know, Mr.
Austin, you're really rather handsome?"

"I daresay I look my best by lamplight," I suggested, smiling.

"No, really I think you are--in the thin ascetic style. I like
that--anyhow for a change. Well, I wanted a word with you, so I waited
till Chat went to bed, and then slipped down."

It was on the tip of my tongue to observe that it was rather late;