he knows a footstep that no one else can hear. What were _you_
doing at Dudley yesterday?"

Narramore took his pipe out of its case and smiled over it.

"Colours well, doesn't it?" he remarked. "You don't care about the
colouring of a pipe? I get a lot of satisfaction out of such little
things! Lazy fellows always do; and they have the best of life in the
end. By-the-bye, what were _you_ doing at Dudley?"

"Had to go over with a girl."

"Rather a pretty girl, too. Old acquaintance?"

"Someone I got to know in London. No, no, not at all what you suppose."

"Well, I know you wouldn't talk about it. It isn't my way, either, to
say much about such things. But I half-promised, not long ago, to let
you know of something that was going on--if it came to anything. And it
rather looks as if it might. What do you think! Birching has been at
me, wanting to know why I don't call. I wonder whether the girl put him
up to it?"

"You went rather far, didn't you?"

"Oh, I drew back in time. Besides, those ideas are old-fashioned. It'll
have to be understood that marriageable girls have nothing specially
sacred about them. They must associate with men on equal terms. The day
has gone by for a hulking brother to come asking a man about his
'intentions.' As a rule, it's the girl that has intentions. The man is
just looking round, anxious to be amiable without making a fool of
himself. We're at a great disadvantage. A girl who isn't an idiot can
very soon know all about the men who interest her; but it's devilish
difficult to get much insight into _them_--until you've hopelessly
committed yourself--won't you smoke? I've something to tell you, and I
can't talk to a man who isn't smoking, when my own pipe's lit."

Hilliard obeyed, and for a few moments they puffed in silence, twilight
thickening about them.

"Three or four months ago," resumed Narramore, "I was told one day--at
business--that a lady wished to see me. I happened to have the room to
myself, and told them to show the lady in. I didn't in the least know
who it could be, and I was surprised to see rather a good-looking
girl--not exactly a lady--tallish, and with fine dark eyes--what did
you say?"

"Nothing."

"A twinge of gout?"

"Go on."

Narramore scrutinised his friend, who spoke in an unusual tone.

"She sat down, and began to tell me that she was out of work--wanted a
place as a bookkeeper, or something of the kind. Could I help her? I
asked her why she ca