is. "And that man calls himself
an F.R.C.S.!" said she.

Adrian, uninformed, naturally asked why not. Gwen supplied a clue for
guessing. "He said he couldn't read your handwriting, and gave me your
letter to make out."

"What nonsense! I write perfectly plainly."

"So I told him. But he maintained he had hardly been able to make out a
word of it. Of course I read it. Your caution to him not to tell me was
a little obscure, but otherwise I found it easy enough. Anyhow, I read
all about it. And now I know."

"Well--I'll never trust a man with letters after his name again. Of
course he was pretending."

"But what for?"

"Because he wanted to tell you, and didn't want to get in a scrape for
betraying my confidence."

Adrian struck in. Might he ask what the rumpus was about? Why Sir
Merridew, and why letters?

Irene supplied the explanation. "I wrote to him about you and Septimius
Severus.... Don't you recollect? And I cautioned him particularly not to
tell Gwen.... Why not? Why--of course not! It was sheer, inexcusable
dishonesty, and I shall tell him so next time I see him."

Gwen appeared uninterested in the point of honour. "I wonder," she said,
"whether he thought telling me of it this way would prevent my building
too much on it, and being disappointed. That would be so exactly like
Dr. Merridew."

"I think," said Adrian deliberately, "that I appreciate the position.
Septimius Severus figures in it as a bust, or as an indirect way of
describing a circumstance; preferably the latter, I should say, for it
must be most uncomfortable to be a bust. As an Emperor he is
inadmissible. I remember the incident--but I suspect it was only a
dream." His voice fell into real seriousness as he said this; then went
back to mock seriousness, after a pause. "However, I am bound to say
that 'inexcusable dishonesty' is a strong expression. I should suggest
'pliable conscience,' always keeping in view the motive of ... Yes,
Pelides dear, but I have at present nothing for you in the form of cake
or sugar. Explain yourself somehow, to the best of your ability." For
Achilles had suddenly placed an outstretched paw, impressively, on the
speaker's knee.

"I see what it was," said Gwen. "You said 'pliable conscience'--just
now."

"Well?"

"He thought he was the first syllable. Never mind _him_! I want you to
tell me about Septimius Severus. He's what I came about. What was it
that happened, exactly?" Thereupon Adrian gave the