all the virtues. Why, I might not last as long as your
wife did."

"Don't say that. We lave a common bond--UNDERSTANDING."

"Think so?"

"I understand you."

"I wonder."

"You do me."

"Yes--that is just the difficulty."

"I tell you I am at the cross-roads. The fingerboard points the way to
me distinctly."

"Does it?"

"It does." He leaned across to her: "Would you risk it?"

"What?" she asked.

"I'll hide nothing. I'll put it all before you. The snubs of your
friends. The whisper of a scandal that would grow into a roar. Afraid
to open a newspaper, fearing what might be printed in it. Life, at
first, in some little Continental village--dreading the passers
through--keeping out of sight lest they would recognise one. No. It
wouldn't be fair to you."

Ethel thought a moment, then answered slowly:

"No, Chris, I don't think it would."

"You see I AM a cad--just a selfish cad!"

"Aren't you?" and she smiled up at him.

"I'll never speak of this again. I wouldn't have NOW--only--I'm
distracted to-day--completely distracted. Will you forgive me for
speaking as I did?"

"Certainly," said Ethel. "I'm not offended. On the contrary. Anyway,
I'll think it over and let you know."

"You will, REALLY?" he asked greedily, grasping at the straw of a hope.
"You will really think it over?"

"I will, really."

"And when she sets me free," he went on, "we could, we could--" He
suddenly stopped.

She looked coolly at him as he hesitated and said: "It IS a difficult
little word at times, isn't it?"

"WOULD you marry me?" he asked, with a supreme effort.

"I never cross my bridges until I come to them," said Ethel, languidly.
"And we're such a long way from THAT one, aren't we?"

"Then I am to wait?"

"Yes. Do," she replied. "When the time comes to accept the charity of
relations, or do something useful for tuppence a week, Bohemian France
or Italy--but then the runaways always go to France or Italy, don't
they?--Suppose we say Hungary? Shall we?"

He did not answer.

She went on: "Very well. When I have to choose between charity and
labour, Bohemian Hungary may beckon me."

He looked at her in a puzzled way. What new mood was this?

"Charity?" he asked. "Labour?"

"Yes. It has come to that. A tiresome bank has failed with all our
sixpences locked up in it. Isn't it stupid?"

"Is ALL your money gone?"

"I think so."

"Good God!"

"Dear mamma knows as little about business as she does about m