s than the horrors
of anarchism. He would have owned up to the destruction of the Winter
Palace indeed, had he had the faintest idea where the Winter Palace was,
and had his assurance amounted to certainty that the Winter Palace was
destroyed. He agreed with her cordially that the position of women was
intolerable, but checked himself on the' verge of the proposition that a
girl ought not to expect a fellow to hand down boxes for her when he was
getting the 'swap' from a customer. It was Jessie's preoccupation
with her own perplexities, no doubt, that delayed the unveiling of Mr.
Hoopdriver all through Saturday and Sunday. Once or twice, however,
there were incidents that put him about terribly--even questions that
savoured of suspicion.

On Sunday night, for no conceivable reason, an unwonted wakefulness
came upon him. Unaccountably he realised he was a contemptible liar,
All through the small hours of Monday he reviewed the tale of his
falsehoods, and when he tried to turn his mind from that, the financial
problem suddenly rose upon him. He heard two o'clock strike, and three.
It is odd how unhappy some of us are at times, when we are at our
happiest.

XXXIV.

"Good morning, Madam," said Hoopdriver, as Jessie came into the
breakfast room of the Golden Pheasant on Monday morning, and he smiled,
bowed, rubbed his hands together, and pulled out a chair for her, and
rubbed his hands again.

She stopped abruptly, with a puzzled expression on her face. "Where HAVE
I seen that before?" she said.

"The chair?" said Hoopdriver, flushing.

"No--the attitude."

She came forward and shook hands with him, looking the while curiously
into his face. "And--Madam?"

"It's a habit," said Mr. Hoopdriver, guiltily. "A bad habit. Calling
ladies Madam. You must put it down to our colonial roughness. Out there
up country--y'know--the ladies--so rare--we call 'em all Madam."

"You HAVE some funny habits, brother Chris," said Jessie. "Before you
sell your diamond shares and go into society, as you say, and stand
for Parliament--What a fine thing it is to be a man!--you must cure
yourself. That habit of bowing as you do, and rubbing your hands, and
looking expectant."

"It's a habit."

"I know. But I don't think it a good one. You don't mind my telling
you?"

"Not a bit. I'm grateful."

"I'm blessed or afflicted with a trick of observation," said Jessie,
looking at the breakfast table. Mr. Hoopdriver put his hand to hi