In her heart of hearts Miss Gaymer was just a little _éprise_ with Mr. Haliburton, and, as becomes one who is above such things, just a little ashamed of the fact. She had found something rather compelling in his dark eyes and silky ways, but, being anything but a susceptible young person, rather resented her own weakness. Still, the fact remained. She had seen a good deal of Mr. Haliburton in London--how, she could hardly explain, though possibly Mr. Haliburton could have done so--and had listened, not altogether unmoved, to tales of a patrimony renounced for Art's sake, of an ancestral home barred by a hot-headed but lovable "old pater"; and to various reflections, half-humorous, half-pathetic, on the subject of what might have been if this world were only a juster place. Joan, who did not know that Mr. Haliburton's ancestral home had been situated over a tobacconist's shop somewhere between the back of Oxford Street and Soho Square, and that his "old pater" had but lately retired from the post of head waiter at a theatrical restaurant in Maiden Lane, in order to devote his undivided attention to the more perfect colouring of an already carnelian proboscis, felt distinctly sorry for her romantic friend. When a young girl begins to feel sorry for a man, the position is full of possibilities; and when heavy-handed and purblind authority steps in and forbids the banns, so to speak, the possibilities become probabilities, and, in extreme cases, certainties. Joan glanced obliquely at Hughie. That impassive young man was advancing with measured strides, frowning ferociously. She continued, not altogether displeased:-- "The next tableau is Flora Macdonald's Farewell--very Scotch. A man in a kilt stands in the centre--" She babbled on, but Hughie's attention wandered. Haliburton again! He did not like the idea. Consequently it was not altogether surprising if, when Joan paused to enquire whether he regarded Queen Elizabeth or a suffragette as the most suitable vehicle for one of Mrs. Jarley's most cherished "wheezes," Hughie should have replied:-- "Joan, how did that chap come here? Was he engaged by you, or did he offer himself?" "He offered himself--very kindly!" said Joan stiffly. "I suppose he is being paid?" "Yes, of course--a guinea or two. It's his profession," said Joan impatiently. "Do you object?" The occasion called for considerable tact, and poor heavy-handed Hughie sighed in anticipation. Joan heard him. "What _is_ the trouble?" she asked, more amused than angry. "Out with it, old Conscientiousness?" "Joey," said Hughie, "I don't like the idea of your taking up with that chap." On the whole, it could not have been put worse.