riosity. "You yourself?"

"As you are aware, I am often asked out to tea," replied Bryce, "and
to garden-parties, and tennis-parties, and choice and cosy functions
patronized by curates and associated with crumpets. I have heard--with
these ears. I can even repeat the sort of thing I have heard.
'That dear, delightful Miss Bewery--what a charming girl! And that
good-looking boy, her brother--quite a dear! Now I wonder who they
really are? Wards of Dr. Ransford, of course! Really, how very
romantic!--and just a little--eh?--unusual? Such a comparatively young
man to have such a really charming girl as his ward! Can't be more than
forty-five himself, and she's twenty--how very, very romantic! Really,
one would think there ought to be a chaperon!'"

"Damn!" said Ransford under his breath.

"Just so," agreed Bryce. "But--that's the sort of thing. Do you want
more? I can supply an unlimited quantity in the piece if you like. But
it's all according to sample."

"So--in addition to your other qualities," remarked Ransford, "you're a
gossiper?"

Bryce smiled slowly and shook his head.

"No," he replied. "I'm a listener. A good one, too. But do you see my
point? I say--there's no mystery about me. If Miss Bewery will honour
me with her hand, she'll get a man whose antecedents will bear the
strictest investigation."

"Are you inferring that hers won't?" demanded Ransford.

"I'm not inferring anything," said Bryce. "I am speaking for myself, of
myself. Pressing my own claim, if you like, on you, the guardian. You
might do much worse than support my claims, Dr. Ransford."

"Claims, man!" retorted Ransford. "You've got no claims! What are you
talking about? Claims!"

"My pretensions, then," answered Bryce. "If there is a mystery--as
Wrychester people say there is--about Miss Bewery, it would be safe with
me. Whatever you may think, I'm a thoroughly dependable man--when it's
in my own interest."

"And--when it isn't?" asked Ransford. "What are you then?--as you're so
candid."

"I could be a very bad enemy," replied Bryce.

There was a moment's silence, during which the two men looked
attentively at each other.

"I've told you the truth," said Ransford at last. "Miss Bewery flatly
refuses to entertain any idea whatever of ever marrying you. She
earnestly hopes that that eventuality may never be mentioned to her
again. Will you give me your word of honour to respect her wishes?"

"No!" answered Bryce. "I won't!"