"I've
been going about recently--dances, dinners, theatres--but I can't seem
to keep my mind off Palla."

Estridge said: "If you'd give your sense of humour half a chance you'd
be all right. You take yourself too solemnly. You let Palla scare you.
That's not the way. The thing to do is to have a jolly time with her,
with them all. Accept her as she thinks she is. There's no damage done
yet. Time enough to throw fits if she takes the bit and bolts----"

He extended his hand, cordially but impatiently:

"You remember I once said that girl ought to be married and have
children? If you do the marrying part she's likely to do the rest very
handsomely. And it will be the making of her."

Jim held on to his hand:

"Tell me what to do, Jack. She isn't in love with me. And she wouldn't
submit to a legal ceremony if she were. You invoke my sense of humour.
I'm willing to give it an airing, only I can't see anything funny in
this business."

"It _is_ funny! Palla's funny, but doesn't know it. You're funny!
They're all funny--unintentionally. But their motives are tragically
immaculate. So stick around and have a good time with Palla until
there's really something to scare you."

"And then?"

"How the devil do I know? It's up to you, of course, what you do about
it."

He laughed and strode away through the fog.

* * * * *

It had seemed to Jim a long time since he had seen Palla. It wasn't
very long. And in all that interminable time he had not once called
her up on the telephone--had not even written her a single line. Nor
had she written to him.

He had gone about his social business in his own circle, much to his
mother's content. He had seen quite a good deal of Elorn Sharrow; was
comfortably back on the old, agreeable footing; tried desperately to
enjoy it; pretended that he did.

But the days were long in the office; the evenings longer, wherever he
happened to be; and the nights, alas! were becoming interminable, now,
because he slept badly, and the grey winter daylight found him
unrefreshed.

Which, recently, had given him a slightly battered appearance,
commented on jestingly by young rakes and old sports at the Patroon's
Club, and also observed by his mother with gentle concern.

"Don't overdo it, Jim," she cautioned him, meaning dances that ended
with breakfasts and that sort of thing. But her real concern was
vaguer than that--deeper, perhaps. And sometimes