Leaning toward her, he slipped his hand under her arm. "Evie, is love nothing?" he asked earnestly, "isn't it the biggest thing? What is the most decent, a wedding between two people who halfhate one another, but are marrying because one wants money and the other a swagger wife, or an everlasting love union between a man and a woman whom God has bound with bonds that a parson cannot strengthen or a snuffy judge cannot break?" She sighed, the quick, double sigh of one half convinced. "You make me feel that I'm common and--and brainless, and anyway, I don't want to talk about it. Ronnie, I suppose you're awfully busy this morning?" She looked wistfully at the big Rolls that was drawn up by the side of the road. "I am rather," he said, "I wish I weren't. I'd love to drive you somewhere--anywhere so long as you were by my side, little fairy. When shall I see you again?" "On Sunday?" she asked as they strolled toward the car. "Why not come up to the flat to tea on Saturday afternoon?" he suggested, but she shook her head. "I'd rather not, Ronnie--do you mind? I--well, I don't want to somehow. Am I an awful pig?" He smiled down on her. "Of course not--oh, damn!" A girl on a horse had just cantered past. She saw him and lifted her whip to acknowledge his raised hat. "Who is that?" Evie was more than curious. "A girl I know," he said suavely. "The daughter of my doctor, and rather a gossip." "You're ashamed of being seen with me." "Rubbish!" he laughed. "I am so proud of you that I wish she had stopped, confound her!" He took her hand and smiled into her eyes. "Goodbye, beloved," he breathed. Evie Colebrook watched the car until it had turned out of sight. It was following the gossiping girl, but she did not care. She went home walking on air. At the corner of the Row, the big car drew abreast of the rider. "Why on earth are you riding on Bank Holiday, Beryl--the park is full of louts, and there aren't half-a-dozen people in the Row!" Beryl Merville looked at him quizzically. "And why on earth are you in the park, Ronnie; and who was your beautiful little friend?" He frowned. "Friend? Oh, you mean the girl I was speaking to? Would you call her beautiful--yes, I suppose she is pretty, but quite a kid. Her father is an old friend of mine--colonel--I forget his name, he is something at the War Office. I have an idea they live near the park. I saw her walking and stopped the car to talk to her. Frankly I was so bored that I almost fell on her neck. I wasn't with her for five minutes." Beryl nodded and dismissed the matter from her mind. She was more interested in another subject. "Yes, dear, I had your letter. I'm an awful brute not to have come over and seen you. But the fact is, I have been working hard. Don't sneer, Beryl. I really have. Sturgeon, the editor of the _Post-Herald_, has discovered in me a latent genius for writing. It is rather fun--apparently I have a flair for that kind of work."