ed at him.

'Gilbert was right about the beauty of the beast,' he muttered. 'D'you
keep it in your glove now?' he went on, and punched Conroy in the
short ribs.

'No,' said Conroy meekly, but without coughing. 'Nowhere--on my honour!
I've chucked it for good.'

'Wait till you are a sound man before you say _that_, Mr. Conroy.' Sir
John Chartres stumped out, saying to Gilbert in the corridor, 'It's all
very fine, but the question is shall I or we "Sir Pandarus of Troy
become," eh? We're bound to think of the children.'

'Have you been vetted?' said Miss Henschil, a few minutes after the
train started. 'May I sit with you? I--I don't trust myself yet. I can't
give up as easily as you can, seemingly.'

'Can't you? I never saw any one so improved in a month.'

'Look here!' She reached across to the rack, single-handed lifted
Conroy's bag, and held it at arm's length. 'I counted ten slowly. And I
didn't think of hours or minutes,' she boasted.

'Don't remind me,' he cried.

'Ah! Now I've reminded myself. I wish I hadn't. Do you think it'll be
easier for us to-night?'

'Oh, don't.' The smell of the carriage had brought back all his last
trip to him, and Conroy moved uneasily.

'I'm sorry. I've brought some games,' she went on. 'Draughts and
cards--but they all mean counting. I wish I'd brought chess, but I can't
play chess. What can we do? Talk about something.'

'Well, how's Toots, to begin with?' said Conroy.

'Why? Did you see him on the platform?'

'No. Was he there? I didn't notice.'

'Oh yes. He doesn't understand. He's desperately jealous. I told him it
doesn't matter. Will you please let me hold your hand? I believe I'm
beginning to get the chill.'

'Toots ought to envy me,' said Conroy.

'He does. He paid you a high compliment the other night. He's taken to
calling again--in spite of all they say.'

Conroy inclined his head. He felt cold, and knew surely he would be
colder.

'He said,' she yawned. '(Beg your pardon.) He said he couldn't see how I
could help falling in love with a man like you; and he called himself a
damned little rat, and he beat his head on the piano last night.'

'The piano? You play, then?'

'Only to him. He thinks the world of my accomplishments. Then I told him
I wouldn't have you if you were the last man on earth instead of only
the best-looking--not with a million in each stocking.'

'No, not with a million in each stocking,' said Conroy vehemently.
'Isn't that odd