e a night of it. I've decided on
that."

"Sorry, dear heart," said G.J. "I'm engaged with Molder to-night. We
shall have some private chamber-music at my rooms--just for ourselves.
You ought to come. Much better for your health."

"What time will the din be over?"

"About eleven."

"Now I say again--listen here. Let's talk business. I'll come to your
chamber-music. I've been before, and survived, and I'll come again.
But afterwards you'll come with me to the Guinea-Fowl."

"But, my dear chap, I can't throw Molder out into Vigo Street at
eleven o'clock," G.J. protested, startled by the blunt mention of the
notorious night-club in the young man's presence.

"Naturally you can't. He'll come along with us. Frankie and I have
nearly fallen into the North Sea or German Ocean together, haven't we,
Frankie? It'll be my show. And I'll turn up with the stuff--one, two
or three pretty ladies according as your worship wishes."

G.J. was now more than startled; he was shocked; he felt his cheeks
reddening. It was the presence of Molder that confused him. Never had
he talked to Molder on any subjects but the arts, and if they had once
or twice lighted on the topic of women it was only in connection with
the arts. He was really interested in and admired Molder's unusual
aesthetic intelligence, and he had done what he could to foster it,
and he immensely appreciated Molder's youthful esteem for himself.
Moreover, he was easily old enough to be Molder's father. It seemed
to him that though two generations might properly mingle in anything
else, they ought not to mingle in licence. Craive's crudity was
extraordinary.

"See here!" Craive went on, serious and determined. "You know the sort
of thing I've come from. I got four days unexpected. I had to run down
to my uncle's. The old things would have died if I hadn't. To-morrow I
go back. This is my last night. I haven't had a scratch up to now.
But my turn's coming, you bet. Next week I may be in heaven or hell or
anywhere, or blind for life or without my legs or any damn thing you
please. But I'm going to have to-night, and you're going to join in."

G.J. saw the look of simple, half-worshipful appeal that sometimes
came into Craive's rather ingenuous face. He well knew that look, and
it always touched him. He remembered certain descriptive letters
which he had received from Craive at the Front,--they corresponded
faithfully. He could not have explained the intimacy of his rela