was very proud and happy, and full of sad superior pity for all
young men who, through incorrect views concerning women, had neglected
to plight themselves.

He imagined that he was going to settle down and live for ever in a
state of bliss with the finest woman in the world, rich, famous,
honoured; and that life held for him no other experience, and especially
no disconcerting, dismaying experience. But in this supposition he was
mistaken.

One afternoon he had escorted Tom to Chenies Street, in order that Tom
might formally meet Geraldine. It was rather nervous work, having regard
to Tom's share in the disaster at Lowndes Square; and the more so
because Geraldine's visit to Dawes Road had not been a dazzling success.
Geraldine in Dawes Road had somehow the air, the brazen air, of an
orchid in a clump of violets; the violets, by their mere quality of
being violets, rebuked the orchid, and the orchid could not have
flourished for any extended period in that temperature. Still, Mrs.
Knight and Aunt Annie said to Henry afterwards that Geraldine was very
clever and nice; and Geraldine said to Henry afterwards that his mother
and aunt were delightful old ladies. The ordeal for Geraldine was now
quite a different one. Henry hoped for the best. It did not follow,
because Geraldine had not roused the enthusiasm of Dawes Road, that she
would leave Tom cold. In fact, Henry could not see how Tom could fail to
be enchanted.

A minor question which troubled Henry, as they ascended the stone stairs
at Chenies Street, was this: Should he kiss Geraldine in front of Tom?
He decided that it was not only his right, but his duty, to kiss her in
the privacy of her own flat, with none but a relative present. 'Kiss her
I will!' his thought ran. And kiss her he did. Nothing untoward
occurred. 'Why, of course!' he reflected. 'What on earth was I worrying
about?' He was conscious of glory. And he soon saw that Tom really was
impressed by Geraldine. Tom's eyes said to him: 'You're not such a fool
as you might have been.'

Geraldine scolded Tom for his behaviour at Mrs. Ashton Portway's, and
Tom replied in Tom's manner; and then, when they were all at ease, she
turned to Henry.

'My poor friend,' she said, 'I've got bad news.'

She handed him a letter from her brother in Leicester, from which it
appeared that the brother's two elder children were down with
scarlatina, while the youngest, three days old, and the mother, were in
a condition