knees and took her hand in both his.

"Thanks, most awfully," he said.

"Friends don't thank each other," she said. "One only thanks people who
don't matter. Now go on. I have been doing all the talking these last
two days. It is your turn; I want to know much more about you."

"I expect you won't like it."

"I must be the judge of that. I am willing to risk it."

"Well, I told you I wanted to talk most awfully," he said, "and now
you've made it so much easier. I expect you know a certain amount about
me, as it is. I've had a tremendously good time all my life. People have
been very kind to me always. I expect they've been too kind. It's all
been so confoundedly pleasant, I have let the years go by without ever
thinking of settling down. But there's an awful lot to be said for it.
And all my life--I'm thirty-eight already--I've shirked every
responsibility under the sun."

Jeannie had a sudden sense that in spite of the promising beginning
which she had half prided herself on and half loathed herself for,
things were going quite completely wrong, and that she had as yet
accomplished nothing whatever. It was but a momentary impression, and
she had no time to reflect on or examine it, since she had to do her
part in this sealed compact of friendship. But she did it with an
uncourageous heart.

She laughed.

"I can't console you over that," she said, "or tell you that you do
yourself an injustice, because I have always regarded you as the very
type of the delectable and untrammelled life. You don't conform to the
English standard, you know, and I expect you have no more acquaintance
with your Wiltshire estates and all your people there than you have with
the House of Lords. Have you ever taken your seat, by the way? No, I
thought not. But, after all, if you don't know the House of Lords, you
know London pretty well, and--and Paris."

He did not smile now, but looked at her gravely.

"Yes, worse luck," he said.

Jeannie nodded at him.

"Well, well," she said, quietly. "Never mind that now. You were speaking
of settling down. Go on about that."

"One doesn't settle down alone," he said.

And then she knew that, so far, her plan had been a dead failure. His
attitude towards her was perfectly clear; they were friends, and as
friends should do, he was confiding in her, seeking from her the
sympathy and counsel of a friend.

"You mean to marry, then?" she asked.

"I hope to marry."

Once again the lightni