a fellow in Baker Street
at seven. If you'll get under weigh we might finish off the
explanation outside, if you're going back that way."

"Going back. Oh Lord--don't you know that I've come back here to stay.
I've got a room--"

"Oh, that's the explanation, is it?"

"No, that's the thing I've got to explain. I thought you'd think I'd
acted dishonourably in--in following her like this. But I couldn't
stand it over there without her. I tried, but on my soul I couldn't. I
shall be all right if I can only see her sometimes, at meals and--and
so forth. I shan't say a word. I haven't said a word. I don't even
think she knows; and if she did--So it's perfectly safe, you know,
Rickman, it's perfectly safe."

"Who doesn't know what? And if who did?" roared Rickman, overcome with
laughter.

"Sh--sh--sh--Flossie. I mean--M--miss Walker."

Rickman stopped laughing and looked at young Spinks with something
like compassion. "I say, old chap, what do you mean?"

"I mean that I should have gone off my chump if I'd hung on at that
place. I couldn't get her out of my mind, not even in the shop. I used
to lie awake at nights, thinking of her. And then, you know--I
couldn't eat."

"In fact, you were pretty bad, were you?"

"Oh, well, I just chucked it up and came here. It's all right, Razors;
you needn't mind. I never had a chance with her. She never gave me so
much as a thought. Not a thought. It's the queerest thing. I couldn't
tell you how I got into this state--I don't know myself. Only now
she's engaged and so forth, you might think that--well, you might
think"--young Spinks had evidently come to the most delicate and
complicated part of his explanation--"well, that I'd no right to go on
getting into states. But when it doesn't make any difference to her,
and it can't matter to you--" He paused; but Rickman gathered that
what he wished to plead was that in those circumstances he was clearly
welcome to his "state." "I mean that if it's all up with me, you know,
it's all right--I mean, it's safe enough--for you."

Poor Spinks became lost in the maze of his own beautiful sentiments.
Adoration for Rickman (himself the soul of honour) struggled blindly
with his passion for Flossie Walker. But the thought, which his brain
had formed, which his tongue refused to utter, was that the
hopelessness of his passion made it no disloyalty to his friend. "It
can make no difference to her, my being here," he said simply.

"Nonsense, y