bell-push, and commanded China tea
and muffins. He felt that he now, as it were, had an opportunity of
making a fresh start in life. He grew almost gay. He could be gay
without sinning against decorum, for Mrs. Challice's singular tact had
avoided all reference to deaths and funerals.

And in the pause, while he was preparing to be gay, attractive, and in
fact his true self, she, calmly stirring China tea, shot a bolt which
made him see stars.

"It seems to me," she observed, "that we might go farther and fare
worse--both of us."

He genuinely did not catch the significance of it in the first instant,
and she saw that he did not.

"Oh," she proceeded, benevolently and reassuringly, "I mean it. I'm not
gallivanting about. I mean that if you want my opinion I fancy we could
make a match of it."

It was at this point that he saw stars. He also saw a faint and
delicious blush on her face, whose complexion was extraordinarily fresh
and tender.

She sipped China tea, holding each finger wide apart from the others.

He had forgotten the origin of their acquaintance, forgotten that each
of them was supposed to have a definite aim in view, forgotten that it
was with a purpose that they had exchanged photographs. It had not
occurred to him that marriage hung over him like a sword. He perceived
the sword now, heavy and sharp, and suspended by a thread of appalling
fragility. He dodged. He did not want to lose her, never to see her
again; but he dodged.

"I couldn't think----" he began, and stopped.

"Of course it's a very awkward situation for a man," she went on, toying
with muffin. "I can quite understand how you feel. And with most folks
you'd be right. There's very few women that can judge character, and if
you started to try and settle something at once they'd just set you down
as a wrong 'un. But I'm not like that. I don't expect any fiddle-faddle.
What I like is plain sense and plain dealing. We both want to get
married, so it would be silly to pretend we didn't, wouldn't it? And it
would be ridiculous of me to look for courting and a proposal, and all
that sort of thing, just as if I'd never seen a man in his
shirt-sleeves. The only question is: shall we suit each other? I've told
you what I think. What do you think?"

She smiled honestly, kindly, but piercingly.

What could he say? What would you have said, you being a man? It is
easy, sitting there in your chair, with no Mrs. Alice Challice in front
of you