g. This restlessness of his, this desire for
movement, was strange in him. Hitherto he had been like a dear old
cosy cat, revelling in the comfort which he had just denounced so
eloquently. She watched him as he took up his favourite stand in
front of the fire.

"Nice girl," said Uncle Chris. "Who was she?"

"Somebody Freddie met," said Jill diplomatically. There was no need to
worry Uncle Chris with details of the afternoon's happenings.

"Very nice girl." Uncle Chris took out his cigar-case. "No need to ask
if I may, thank goodness." He lit a cigar. "Do you remember, Jill,
years ago, when you were quite small, how I used to blow smoke in your
face?"

Jill smiled.

"Of course I do. You said that you were training me for marriage. You
said that there were no happy marriages except where the wife didn't
mind the smell of tobacco. Well, it's lucky, as a matter of fact, for
Derek smokes all the time."

Uncle Chris took up his favourite stand against the fireplace.

"You're very fond of Derek, aren't you, Jill?"

"Of course I am. You are, too, aren't you?"

"Fine chap. Very fine chap. Plenty of money, too. It's a great
relief," said Uncle Chris, puffing vigorously. "A thundering relief."
He looked over Jill's head down the room. "It's fine to think of you
happily married, dear, with everything in the world that you want."

Uncle Chris' gaze wandered down to where Jill sat. A slight mist
affected his eyesight. Jill had provided a solution for the great
problem of his life. Marriage had always appalled him, but there was
this to be said for it, that married people had daughters. He had
always wanted a daughter, a smart girl he could take out and be proud
of; and fate had given him Jill at precisely the right age. A child
would have bored Uncle Chris--he was fond of children, but they made
the deuce of a noise and regarded jam as an external ornament--but a
delightful little girl of fourteen was different. Jill and he had been
very close to each other since her mother had died, a year after the
death of her father, and had left her in his charge. He had watched
her grow up with a joy that had a touch of bewilderment in it--she
seemed to grow so quickly--and had been fonder and prouder of her at
every stage of her tumultuous career.

"You're a dear," said Jill. She stroked the trouser-leg that was
nearest. "How _do_ you manage to get such a wonderful crease? You
really are a credit to me!"

There was a momentary