uestion at a time," said Mr. Mafferton, and I think he smiled.

"Now you remind me of Sandford and Merton," I said, "and a place for
everything and everything in its place. And punctuality is the thief of
time. And many others."

"You haven't got it _quite_ right," said Mr. Mafferton with incipient
animation. "May I correct you? 'Procrastination,' not 'punctuality.'"

"Thanks," I said. I could not help observing that for quite five minutes
Mr. Mafferton had made no effort to overhear the conversation between
Mr. Dod and Miss Portheris. It was a trifle, but life is made up of
little things.

"I don't believe we adorn our conversation with proverbs in America as
much as we did," I continued. "I guess it takes too long. If you make
use of a proverb you see, you've got to allow for reflection first, and
reflection afterwards, and a sigh, and very few of us have time for
that. It is one of our disadvantages."

Mr. Mafferton heard me with attention.

"Really!" he said in quite his old manner when we used to discuss
Presidential elections and peanuts and other features of life in my
republic. "That is a fact of some interest--but I see you cling to one
little Americanism, Miss Wick. Do you remember"--he actually looked
arch--"once assuring me that you intended to abandon the verb to
'guess'?"

"I don't know why we should leave all the good words to Shakespeare," I
said, "but I was under a great many hallucinations about the American
language in England, and I daresay I did."

If I responded coldly, it was at the thought of my last interview with
poor dear Arthur, and his misprised larynx. But at this moment a wildly
encouraging sign from Dicky reminded me that his interests and not my
own emotions were to be considered.

"We mustn't reproach each other, must we," I said softly. "_I_ don't
bear a particle of malice--really and truly."

Mr. Mafferton cast a glance of alarm at Mr. Dod and Miss Portheris, who
were raptly exchanging views as to the respective merits of a cleek and
a brassey shot given certain peculiar bunkers and a sandy green--as if
two infatuated people talking golf would have ears for anything else!

"Not on any account," he said hurriedly.

"The best quality of friendship sometimes arises out of the most
unfortunate circumstances," I added. The sympathy in my voice was for
Dicky and Isabel.

Mr. Mafferton looked at me expressively and the carriage drew up at the
Catacombs of St. Callistus. Mrs.