d between you."

"So did I," said Mr. Blundell.

"You're a big man, John," said the other, "but you're slow. You're all
muscle and no head."

"I think of things afterward," said Blundell, humbly; "generally after I
get to bed."

Mr. Turnbull sniffed, and took a turn up and down the room; then he
closed the door and came toward his friend again.

"I dare say you're surprised at me being so anxious to get rid of Venia,"
he said, slowly, "but the fact is I'm thinking of marrying again myself."

"You!" said the startled Mr. Blundell.

"Yes, me," said the other, somewhat sharply. "But she won't marry so
long as Venia is at home. It's a secret, because if Venia got to hear of
it she'd keep single to prevent it. She's just that sort of girl."

Mr. Blundell coughed, but did not deny it. "Who is it?" he inquired.

"Miss Sippet," was the reply. "She couldn't hold her own for half an
hour against Venia."

Mr. Blundell, a great stickler for accuracy, reduced the time to five
minutes.

"And now," said the aggrieved Mr. Turnbull, "now, so far as I can see,
she's struck with Daly. If she has him it'll be years and years before
they can marry. She seems crazy about heroes. She was talking to me the
other night about them. Not to put too fine a point on it, she was
talking about you."

Mr. Blundell blushed with pleased surprise.

"Said you were not a hero," explained Mr. Turnbull. "Of course, I stuck
up for you. I said you'd got too much sense to go putting your life into
danger. I said you were a very careful man, and I told her how
particular you was about damp sheets. Your housekeeper told me."

"It's all nonsense," said Blundell, with a fiery face. "I'll send that
old fool packing if she can't keep her tongue quiet."

"It's very sensible of you, John," said Mr. Turnbull, "and a sensible
girl would appreciate it. Instead of that, she only sniffed when I told
her how careful you always were to wear flannel next to your skin. She
said she liked dare-devils."

"I suppose she thinks Daly is a dare-devil," said the offended Mr.
Blundell. "And I wish people wouldn't talk about me and my skin. Why
can't they mind their own business?"

Mr. Turnbull eyed him indignantly, and then, sitting in a very upright
position, slowly filled his pipe, and declining a proffered match rose
and took one from the mantel-piece.

"I was doing the best I could for you," he said, staring hard at the
ingrate. "I was try