of her life.

"You're always thinking," said Flossie, and laughed.

"I'm sorry, Flossie; it's a disgusting habit, I own. I'll make up for
it some day. We'll do a lot of theatres and--and things together, when
my ship comes in."

"Thank you, Mr. Rickman," said she with a return to her old demeanour.
"And now I suppose I'd better say good-night?"

She turned. They said good-night. He sprang to open, the door for her.
As she went through it, his heart, if it did not go with her, was
touched, most palpably, unmistakably touched at seeing her go. He had
not loved Flossie; but he might have loved her.

Mr. Soper, who had been waiting all the while on the stairs, walked in
through the open door. He closed it secretly.

He laid his hand affectionately on Rickman's shoulder. "Rickman," he
said solemnly, "while I 'ave the opportunity, I want to speak to you.
If it should 'appen that a fiver would be useful to you, don't you
hesitate to come to me."

"Oh, Soper, thanks most awfully. Really, no, I couldn't think of it."

"But I mean it. I really do. So don't you 'esitate; and there needn't
be any hurry about repayment. That," said Mr. Soper, "is quite
immaterial." Failing to extract from Rickman any distinct promise, he
withdrew; but not before he had pressed upon his immediate acceptance
a box of his favourites, the Flor di Dindigul.

By this time Rickman's heart was exceedingly uncomfortable inside him.
He had hated Soper.

He thought it was all over, and he was glad to escape from these
really very trying interviews to the quiet of his own room. There he
found Spinks sitting on his bed waiting for him. Spinks had come to
lay before him an offering and a scheme. The offering was no less than
two dozen of gents' best all-wool knitted hose, double-toed and
heeled. The scheme was for enabling Rickman thenceforward to purchase
all manner of retail haberdashery at wholesale prices by the simple
method of impersonating Spinks. At least in the long-run it amounted
to that, and Rickman had some difficulty in persuading Spinks that his
scheme, though in the last degree glorious and romantic, was, from an
ethical point of view, not strictly feasible.

"What a rum joker you are, Rickman. I never thought of that. I
wonder--" (He mused in an unconscious endeavour to restore the moral
balance between him and Rickman). "I wonder who'll put you to bed, old
chappy, when you're tight."

"Don't fret, Spinky. I'm almost afraid that I