ok of her from the first, and I liked it still better now. By dint of
persuasion, I made her tell me all about herself."

"Did she tell you the truth?"

"Why should you suppose she didn't?" replied Narramore with some
emphasis. "You must look at this affair in a different light, Hilliard.
A joke is a joke, but I've told you that the joking time has gone by. I
can make allowance for you: you think I have been making a fool of
myself, after all."

"The beginning was ominous."

"The beginning of our acquaintance? Yes, I know how it strikes you. But
she came in that way because she had been trying for months----"

"Who was it that told her of you?"

"Oh, one of our girls, no doubt. I haven't asked her--never thought
again about it."

"And what's her record?"

"Nothing dramatic in it, I'm glad to say. At one time she had an
engagement in London for a year or two. Her people, 'poor but
honest'--as the stories put it. Father was a timekeeper at Dudley;
brother, a mechanic there. I was over to see her yesterday; we had only
just said good-bye when I met you. She's remarkably well educated, all
things considered: very fond of reading; knows as much of books as I
do--more, I daresay. First-rate intelligence; I guessed that from the
first. I can see the drawbacks, of course. As I said, she isn't what
_you_ would call a lady; but there's nothing much to find fault with
even in her manners. And the long and the short of it is, I'm in love
with her."

"And she has promised to marry you?"

"Well, not in so many words. She seems to have scruples--difference of
position, and that kind of thing."

"Very reasonable scruples, no doubt."

"Quite right that she should think of it in that way, at all events.
But I believe it was practically settled yesterday. She isn't in very
brilliant health, poor girl! I want to get her away from that beastly
place as soon as possible. I shall give myself a longish holiday, and
take her on to the Continent. A thorough change of that kind would set
her up wonderfully.

"She has never been on to the Continent?"

"What a preposterous question! You're going to sleep, sitting here in
the dark. Oh, don't trouble to light up for me; I can't stay much
longer."

Hilliard had risen, but instead of lighting the lamp he turned to the
window and stood there drumming with his fingers on a pane.

"Are you seriously concerned for me?" said his friend. "Does it seem a
piece of madness?"

"You must j