with him again, this man who
had come upon us so quietly yet so dramatically. We had all become
sufficiently American to desire "a good look at him." And when Americans
take a good look at you they go over you with a fine tooth comb. They
see everything, from a knot in your bootlace to the gold-filling in your
teeth. My friends "sat up" as I made my announcement. I felt that, in
editorial parlance, I had made a scoop.

"Bully!" said Mac, and Bill, her chin on her hand, looked across at me
with approval. After all, again, my lack of enterprise in interrogating
Mr. Carville the night before was bearing fruit. It was crediting me
with a sportsmanlike reluctance to steal a march on my friends. I had,
unconsciously done what we English call "the right thing." I had invited
him to tea. Suddenly Bill's eyes became anxious.

"Are they both coming?" she asked.

"I--I don't think so," I faltered. "I can't say exactly why, but I don't
think so. You see," I went on, "the reason he offered to tell me about
himself was a question of mine about his children. I said their names
were curious enough to strike anyone. He said it was a long story. And
he offered to step over himself. Now," I felt more certain of myself
now, "the story of his children's names may take two directions. If _he_
named them he will not want his wife to hear him tell about it. If _she_
named them, which is not likely, why, he would scarcely take the trouble
to come over and tell strangers about it, would he?"

"I'm very glad to hear it," said Bill.

"So am I," I agreed. "I think it is best to get acquainted with families
on the instalment plan, don't you?"

"Rather!" said Bill, and held out her hand for my cup.

It was a perfect morning, clear and crisp, and the long sunlit vista of
Van Diemen's Avenue tempted us sorely. We went through our daily
struggle. Those people who work by rote, who are herded in offices and
factories, and who are compelled by the laws of their industries to
remain at their posts whether the sun shines or not, often regard the
lives of free lances like us as merely agreeable holidays; they would
certainly be somewhat staggered to find the enormous will-power involved
in resisting the calls of the open road. There are so many subtle
arguments in favour of abandoning the desk for just once. "It is such a
glorious day, it is a shame to be indoors," "one's head is muggy; a good
walk will clear the ideas," or "it doesn't do to stick at