ere. By Jove, I never came
across any one like her!"

Blachland smiled grimly to himself behind a great puff of smoke. He had
good reason to believe that statement.

"It's a fact," went on Percival. "But I say, old chap, she doesn't seem
to fetch you at all. I'm rather glad, of course--in fact, devilish
glad. Still, I should have thought she'd be just the sort of woman
who'd appeal to you no end. You must be getting _blase_."

"My dear Percy, a man's idiocies don't stay with him all his life, thank
Heaven--though their results are pretty apt to."

"Well, Hilary, I'm mortal glad to have the field clear in this case,
because I want you to help me."

"I don't think you need any help. Judging from the very brief period of
observation vouchsafed to me, the lady herself seems able and willing to
help you all she knows."

"No, but you don't understand. I mean business here--real serious--"

"Strictly honourable--or--"

The young fellow flushed up.

"If any one else had said that--" he began, indignantly.

"Oh, don't be an ass. You surely don't expect me--me, mind--to cotton
to heroics in a matter of this kind. What do you know about the woman?
Nothing."

"I don't care about that I can't do without her."

"She can do without you, I expect, eh?"

"She can't. She told me so."

"Did she? Now, Percy, I don't want to hurt your feelings. But how many
men do you suppose she has told the same thing to--in her time?"

"None. Her marriage was only one of convenience. She was forced into
it."

"Of course. They always are. Now, supposing she had told me, for
instance, she couldn't do without me? What then?"

"You? Why, you never set eyes on her till this morning."

"No. Of course not. I was only putting a case. Again, she's rather
older than you."

"There you're wrong. She's a year or two younger. She told me so."

Blachland, happening to know that she was, in fact, five or six years
the young fellow's senior, went on appreciating the humours of the
situation. And really these were great.

"By Jove! Listen!" said the other suddenly, as a chattering and
clucking of fowls was audible outside. "There's a jackal or a bushcat
or something getting at the fowls. They roost in those low trees just
outside. I'll get the gun, and if we put out the light, we may get a
shot at him from the window."

"Not much," returned Blachland decisively. "The window's at the head of
my bed, not yours. I w