"I feel quite friendly to him. I want to be friends." "It does you credit then," he said with a sneer. She pressed his arm lightly again, pleading against his anger and his unwonted failure to understand. "It would be an end of all hope if I threw the money in his teeth. He's unhappy enough about it as it is." She looked up as she added: "I've got to live with him, you know, Frank." Caylesham gave her a curious quick glance. "Got to live with him?" "Yes; all my life," she answered. "I suppose you hadn't thought of that?" It was not the sort of thing which Caylesham was in the habit of thinking about, but he tried to follow her view. "Yes, of course. It would be better to be friends. But you shouldn't let him get on stilts. It's absurd, after what he's done. I mean--I mean he's done a much queerer thing than you have." "Poor old John! How could he help it?" He glanced at her sharply and was about to speak, when she cried, "Why, where are we? I didn't notice where we were going." "We're just outside my rooms. Come in for a bit." "No, I can't come in. I'm late now, and--and--really I'm ashamed to tell even you. Well, I'm always questioned where I've been. I have to give an account of every place. I have to stand with my hands behind me and give an account of all my movements, Frank." He whistled gently and compassionately. "Like a schoolgirl!" "How well you follow the metaphor, Frank! So I can't come in. I'll go home. No, don't you come." "I'll come a bit farther with you. Oh, it's quite dark." "Well, not arm in arm!" "But doesn't that look more respectable?" "You're entirely incurable," she said, with her old pleasure in him all revived. "It's infernal nonsense," he went on. "Just you stand up for yourself. It's absolute humbug in him. He's debarred himself from taking up any such attitude--just as much as he has from making any public row about it. Hang it, he can't have it both ways, Christine!" "I've got to live with him, Frank." "Oh, you said that before." "And I'm very fond of him." "What?" He turned to her in a genuine surprise and an obvious vexation. "Yes, very. I always was. We used to spar, but we were good friends. We don't spar now; I wish we did. It's just iciness. But I'm very fond of him." "Of course, if you feel like that----" "I always felt like that, even--even long ago. I used to tell you I did. I suppose you thought that humbug." "Well, it wouldn't have been very strange if I had." "No, I suppose not. It must have looked like that. But it was true--and it is true. The only thing I've got left to care much about in life is getting to be friends with John again--and I don't suppose I ever shall." Her voice fairly broke for a moment. "That's what upset me so much when I saw those silly children at Kate Raymore's." Caylesham looked at her. There was a roguish twinkle in his eye, but he patted her hand in a very friendly sympathy. "I say, old John's cut me out after all!" he whispered.