o see you here? Of course they do. I meant, have
you many friends?'

'Friends, no. A good many acquaintances.'

'Men, like yourself?'

'Mostly men, fellows who talk about art and literature.'

'And women?' Nancy faltered, half turning away.

'Oh, magnificent creatures--Greek scholars--mathematicians--all that is
most advanced!'

'That's the right answer to a silly question,' said Nancy humbly.

Whereat, Tarrant fixed his gaze upon her.

'I begin to think that--'

He checked himself awkwardly. Nancy insisted on the completion of his
thought.

'That of all the women I know, you have the most sense.'

'I had rather hear you say that than have a great fortune.' She blushed
with joy. 'Perhaps you will love me some day, as I wish to be loved.'

'How?'

'I'll tell you another time. If it weren't for my father's illness, I
think I could go home feeling almost happy. But how am I to know what
you are doing?'

'What do you wish me to do?'

'Just tell me how you live. What shall you do now, when I'm gone?'

'Sit disconsolate,'--he came nearer--'thinking you were just a little
unkind.'

'No, don't say that.' Nancy was flurried. 'I have told you the real
reason. Our housekeeper says that father was disappointed and angry
because I put off my return from Teignmouth. He spoke to me very coldly,
and I have hardly seen him since. He won't let me wait upon him; and
I have thought, since I know how ill he really is, that I must seem
heartless. I will come for longer next time.'

To make amends for the reproach he had uttered in spite of himself,
Tarrant began to relate in full the events of his ordinary day.

'I get my own breakfast--the only meal I have at home. Look, here's
the kitchen, queer old place. And here's the dining-room. Cupboards
everywhere, you see; we boast of our cupboards. The green paint is _de
rigueur_; duck's egg colour; I've got to like it. That door leads into
the bedroom. Well, after breakfast, about eleven o'clock that's to say,
I light up--look at my pipe-rack--and read newspapers. Then, if it's
fine, I walk about the streets, and see what new follies men are
perpetrating. And then--'

He told of his favourite restaurants, of his unfashionable club, of
a few houses where, at long intervals, he called or dined, of the
Hodiernals, of a dozen other small matters.

'What a life,' sighed the listener, 'compared with mine!'

'We'll remedy that, some day.'

'When?' she asked absently.

'W