"Anyhow, I am one of the unemployed," he answered. "You see, I have been almost converted to opinions which cut away the ground from under my own feet. I have lived so far a delightful life, and now my conscience is beginning to nag me. The question is whether I am enjoying myself at some poor wretches' continual expense." "Why have you never married, Mr. Clynesworth?" asked Bridget. "I have seen only one woman I could ever care to make my wife." "Isn't one enough?" "She is bound to be in this country," was the answer; "although we may have to alter all that in order to get rid of our surplus!" "Why haven't you married that one?" "Well, I haven't asked her yet," said Jimmy. "Of course, I am going to, but there are, I suppose, rules to be observed. Hitherto, to tell you the truth, I have been a little frightened at the bare idea. One has so many object lessons! I know a man who was married a week or so ago. He was immensely fond of the girl, but I can swear she doesn't care for him a rap. Yet I imagine she succeeded in satisfying him that she was--well, over head and ears in love! So she was with some one else." "Still, with so many awful examples," suggested Bridget, "you will naturally be cautious. For your own part, you would not put the momentous question to any woman unless you had the most perfect confidence----" "Oh, I have!" he replied, more enthusiastically than she had ever heard him speak. "Being human, I suppose I am bound to assume there must be blemishes about her somewhere--I don't know where! But," Jimmy continued, "of one thing I am as certain as a man can be of anything in this world." "What is that?" faltered Bridget. "Her utter incapability of the remotest shadow of deception. At least I know that when the time comes to put my fate to the touch, she will answer with absolute honesty. If she loves me I shall be the most fortunate beggar under the sun, and if unhappily she doesn't, she will say so _sans phrase_." "You put a premium on candour!" she suggested. "Why, yes," he answered. "Whatever I may be I am not very intolerant, but double dealing is the one thing I think I might find it impossible to forgive. It isn't the spoken lie that's the worst." "What is?" asked Bridget. "The abominable whitewash we daub over our lives. The eternal pretence to be something we are not. The---- But," Jimmy broke off, with a laugh, "you must always pull me up when I show signs of beginning to preach!" As he was speaking, the door opened and Miller in his quiet way announced-- "Colonel Faversham." "Hullo, Jimmy, are you here!" he exclaimed, as Bridget offered her hand. "Don't you think it looks rather like it?" answered Jimmy, with an ingratiating smile. "I hope your knee is better, colonel." "Quite all right," said Colonel Faversham, with a scowl. "Never anything the matter with it. I am never ill. There isn't a sounder man in London."