Maybe, for a man. But I never minded things much till George came. I
was all stu-upid like.'

'So was I, but now I think I can live. It ought to be less next month,
oughtn't it?' he said.

'I hope so. Ye-es. There's nothing much for a maid except to be married,
and 7 ask no more. Whoever yours is, when you've found her, she shall
have a wedding present from Mrs. George Skinner that--'

'But she wouldn't understand it any more than Toots.'

'He doesn't matter--except to me. I can't keep my eyes open, thank God!
Good-night, lad.'

Conroy followed her with his eyes. Beauty there was, grace there was,
strength, and enough of the rest to drive better men than George Skinner
to beat their heads on piano-tops--but for the new-found life of him
Conroy could not feel one flutter of instinct or emotion that turned to
herward. He put up his feet and fell asleep, dreaming of a joyous,
normal world recovered--with interest on arrears. There were many things
in it, but no one face of any one woman.

* * * * *

Thrice afterward they took the same train, and each time their trouble
shrank and weakened. Miss Henschil talked of Toots, his multiplied
calls, the things he had said to his sisters, the much worse things his
sisters had replied; of the late (he seemed very dead to them) M.
Najdol's gifts for the soul-weary; of shopping, of house rents, and the
cost of really artistic furniture and linen.

Conroy explained the exercises in which he delighted--mighty labours of
play undertaken against other mighty men, till he sweated and, having
bathed, slept. He had visited his mother, too, in Hereford, and he
talked something of her and of the home-life, which his body, cut out of
all clean life for five years, innocently and deeply enjoyed. Nurse
Blaber was a little interested in Conroy's mother, but, as a rule, she
smoked her cigarette and read her paper-backed novels in her own
compartment.

On their last trip she volunteered to sit with them, and buried herself
in _The Cloister and the Hearth_ while they whispered together. On that
occasion (it was near Salisbury) at two in the morning, when the
Lier-in-Wait brushed them with his wing, it meant no more than that they
should cease talk for the instant, and for the instant hold hands, as
even utter strangers on the deep may do when their ship rolls underfoot.

'But still,' said Nurse Blaber, not looking up, 'I think your Mr.
Skinner might feel jea