“When you please,” said Fairfax, comfortably exhaling smoke. “What a sweet pretty leg you’ve got! Do you like my style?” Miss Choate swallowed. “You are quick,” she said. “Of course, I’ve never played this before, so——” “Neither have I,” said Punch. “I give you my word. Er, do you?” The lady stared into the fire. “Yes,” she said, “I do. If I had been poor, you wouldn’t have spoken, would you?” “I should not.” “Why?” “Because I haven’t enough to keep you—us as we should be kept.” Athalia laughed. “‘I could not love thee, dear, so much,’” she quoted, “‘loved I not _comfort_ more.’” “My dear,” said Punch, “that was most admirably put. It exactly represents my point of view, your point of view and the point from which, furiously as they would deny the impeachment, every rational male and female in this edifice views the rich vale of matrimony.” Miss Choate raised her sweet eyebrows. “We are a topping lot of wash-outs, aren’t we?” she said. Fairfax shook his head. “Not at all. We’re just wise. We have the sagacity to avoid the steep and narrow path which leads to heroism, because we blinkin’ well know that we should never get there.” “But——” “One moment. If Fortune puts us upon that path, as she may, that’s another matter. We get to heroism then. But if we choose it of our own free will—never. Never. Because, sooner or later, we always regret our choice. And there ain’t no admittance to ’eroism for gents wot regrets their choice.” “I seem to know that line,” said Miss Choate. “Isn’t it out of _His Sin against Her Love_?” Fairfax appeared to wince. “Tennyson, dear, Tennyson. Hiawatha’s address to the Boy Scouts.” There was a pregnant silence. As soon as she could trust her voice— “Aren’t you leaving love out of the question?” ventured Athalia. “I don’t think so. I know love jettisons fear, but I don’t think it sandbags the instinct of self-preservation. I don’t mean that if you tottered into a bear-pit I wouldn’t go in to get you out. But if you dropped your lip-stick in—well, the bears could have it.” “Supposing it was the only lip-stick I had?” “Nothing doing,” said Fairfax. “Supposing I said that if you got it out I’ld marry you?” “Love doesn’t——” “Don’t evade,” said Miss Choate. “There’s another ten minutes to go.” Fairfax looked at her. Silhouetted against the black of an old bureau, the delicate features looked especially beautiful. The smooth brow, the straight clean-cut nose, the sweet droop of the mouth—from temples to pert chin my lady’s face was a picture for men to kneel to. Her squire covered his eyes. “Rot it,” he said shakily. “I—I believe I should have a dart.” Athalia permitted herself to smile. “But if I was poor you wouldn’t?”