nius for affairs.

But getting into his train to return to Mrs. Ventnor, he thought: 'A
woman like that would have been--!' And he sighed.

2

With a neatly written cheque for fifty pounds in his pocket Bob Pillin
turned in at 23, Millicent Villas on the afternoon after Mr. Ventnor's
visit. Chivalry had won the day. And he rang the bell with an elation
which astonished him, for he knew he was doing a soft thing.

"Mrs. Larne is out, sir; Miss Phyllis is at home."

His heart leaped.

"Oh-h! I'm sorry. I wonder if she'd see me?"

The little maid answered

"I think she's been washin' 'er'air, sir, but it may be dry be now. I'll
see."

Bob Pillin stood stock still beneath the young woman on the wall. He
could scarcely breathe. If her hair were not dry--how awful! Suddenly he
heard floating down a clear but smothered "Oh! Gefoozleme!" and other
words which he could not catch. The little maid came running down.

"Miss Phyllis says, sir, she'll be with you in a jiffy. And I was to
tell you that Master Jock is loose, sir."

Bob Pillin answered "Tha-anks," and passed into the drawing-room. He
went to the bureau, took an envelope, enclosed the cheque, and addressing
it: "Mrs. Larne," replaced it in his pocket. Then he crossed over to the
mirror. Never till this last month had he really doubted his own face;
but now he wanted for it things he had never wanted. It had too much
flesh and colour. It did not reflect his passion. This was a handicap.
With a narrow white piping round his waistcoat opening, and a buttonhole
of tuberoses, he had tried to repair its deficiencies. But do what he
would, he was never easy about himself nowadays, never up to that pitch
which could make him confident in her presence. And until this month to
lack confidence had never been his wont. A clear, high, mocking voice
said:

"Oh-h! Conceited young man!"

And spinning round he saw Phyllis in the doorway. Her light brown hair
was fluffed out on her shoulders, so that he felt a kind of
fainting-sweet sensation, and murmured inarticulately:

"Oh! I say--how jolly!"

"Lawks! It's awful! Have you come to see mother?"

Balanced between fear and daring, conscious of a scent of hay and verbena
and camomile, Bob Pillin stammered:

"Ye-es. I--I'm glad she's not in, though."

Her laugh seemed to him terribly unfeeling.

"Oh! oh! Don't be foolish. Sit down. Isn't washing one's head awful?"

Bob Pillin answ