tea-gown, pending an engagement as heavy matron on the
provincial stage, was glad enough to play Propriety in Miss Grace's
drawing-room. To-night Poppy made short work of Propriety. She waited
with admirable patience while the large lady (whom she addressed
affectionately as Tiny) followed up the last thin trail of mayonnaise;
but when Tiny showed a disposition to toy with the intricacies of an
empty claw, Poppy protested.

"Hurry up and clear out, there's a dear. I want to give Rickets his
supper, and we haven't got a minute to spare."

And Tiny, who seemed to know her business, hurried up and cleared out.

But Rickets didn't want any supper, and Poppy was visibly abstracted
and depressed. She mingled whipped cream with minute fragments of
lobster, and finally fell to torturing a sandwich with a spoon; and
all with an immense affectation of not having a minute to spare.

"Well, Ryzors," she said at last (and her accent jarred him horribly),
"this is very strynge behyviour."

"Which?"

"Which? Do you know you haven't been near me for two months?"

He laughed uneasily. "I couldn't be near you when I was away."

"Never said you could. But what did you go away for?"

"Business."

"Too busy to write, I suppose?"

"Much too busy."

She rose, and with one hand on his shoulder steered him into the front
room.

"Sit down," she said. "And don't look so sulky. I want to talk to you
sensibly."

He sat down where he had sat that night two months ago, on the Polar
bear skin. She sat down too, with a sweeping side-long movement of her
hips that drew her thin skirts close about her. She contemplated the
effect a little dubiously, then with shy nervous fingers loosened and
shook out the folds. He leaned back, withdrawn as far as possible into
the corner of the divan. The associations of the place were
unspeakably loathsome to him.

"Look here, dear"--(In Poppy's world the term of endearment went for
nothing; it was simply the stamp upon the current coin of comradeship.
If only that had been the beginning and the end between them!)

"I haven't a minute--but, I'm going to ask you something" (though
Poppy hadn't a minute she was applying herself very leisurely to the
making of cigarettes). "Don't go and get huffy at what I'm going to
say. Do you happen to owe Dicky anything?"

"Why?"

"Tell you why afterwards. _Do_ you owe him anything?"

"Oh, well--a certain amount--Why?"

"Why? Because I think he owes _you_ s