“I,” said Hubert, “with my little eye. I found the ring. I happened upon it, as they say, in the course of a job of work.” “Where?” Challenger rose to his feet. “Julia,” he said, “after the barber had cleansed me I was going to call upon you. I was going to beg your pardon and ask you very humbly to have another dart. I don’t want to stimy George, but I’ve taken Sloane Street on a seven years’ lease, and——” “Hubert, you haven’t!” “Why not, dear? I took it first thing this morning, and, being so close, I just felt round for the ring. There it was—in the midst of the bathroom. I gave the porter a fiver just for luck, and——” “But, Hubert, I’ve taken South Street.” “_Julia!_” Miss Willow nodded. Then she put out her hands, and Challenger caught them in his. “You were perfectly right,” she said. “You always are. South Street is incomparable. And I thought, perhaps, if you didn’t think me too capricious to live with . . . in South Street . . .” “My blessed darling,” said Hubert, with his cheek against hers. “My beautiful——” Here the telephone stammered an interruption. Challenger kissed his lady. Then he lifted his head. “George,” he said, “for a monkey.” Miss Willow picked up the receiver. “Is that you, Julia?” cried Fulke. “Oh, George,” said Miss Willow, “I am so glad you rang up. I want you to do something for me.” There was a choking noise. At length— “Not—not really?” said Fulke hysterically. “What about the ring?” “Oh, I’ve got the ring all right. This is instead. Among those ‘orders’ I gave you was one for a flat in Sloane Street. We took it this morning, but now we’ve seen one we like better. Will you go and tell the porter to go on showing the flat? Just mention Hubert’s name, and—— Hullo, hullo! Are you there? Are you there?” But George had rung off. And now Julia Challenger has superseded Madrigal Chichele. TITUS TITUS “I tell you,” said Titus, “you should have married money.” “If you like to put it that way,” said Mrs. Cheviot, “there’s nothing to stop you.” “My dear,” said her husband, “it happens to be the truth. Three thousand a year’s no earthly use to you.” “It would be if I had my share.” Titus took out a note-book and put a glass in his eye. “This is May,” he announced. “The twelfth of May. I don’t know exactly how much you consider your share, but since the beginning of the year you’ve had seven hundred and ninety for clothes alone.” “You would write it down,” said Blanche contemptuously. “If you mean that it’s like me,” said Cheviot, “that isn’t true. But we’ve had these discussions before, and the absence of any figures has materially helped your case. In the first place, I’ve always put it too low—to be on the safe side. In the second, you’ve always sworn that I put it too high.” “I suppose you want me to be dressed.” Titus took down his eyeglass and put his note-book away.