"Let's make some ourselves," said Julian, with a happy inspiration. He felt that to perform a common and a cosey act must draw them together, and awaken in the lady's breast a happy and progressive confidence. She was evidently surprised at the suggestion. "Well, I never!" she ejaculated. "You are a queer one. You are taking a rise out of me now!" "Not at all. I like making toast. Give me a fork. I'll do it, and you sit there and direct me." She laughed and produced the fork from a mean cupboard which did duty as a sideboard. "Here you are, then. 'Cut it pretty thick. It ain't so high class, but it eats better. That's it. Sit on this stool, dear." She kicked an ancient leather one to the hearth, and Julian, tucking his long-tailed frock coat under him, squatted down and thrust forward the bread to the bars of the grate. The lady opened the lid of the teapot and examined the brew with an anxious eye. "It's drawin' beautiful," she declared. "Well, I'm d--" she caught herself up short. "Well this is bally funny," she said. "Turn it, dearie." Julian obeyed, and they began to talk. For the ice was broken now, and the lady was quite at her ease, and simple and human in her hospitalities. "This is better than the bun," Julian said. "I believe you, dear. And yet that bun did me a deal of good that mornin'." Her voice became suddenly reflective. "A deal of good." "Are you often out at such a time?" "Not I. But that night I'd--well, I didn't feel like bein' indoors. There's things--well, there, it don't matter. That toast's done, dearie. Bring it here, and let me butter it." Julian brought it, and cut another slice from the loaf. He toasted while the lady buttered, a fine division of labour which drew them close together. Jessie, meanwhile, attracted by these pleasant preparations, hovered about, wriggling in pathetic anxiety to share the good things of life. "Anything wrong that night?" Julian said, carelessly. The lady buttered, like an angry machine. "Oh no, dearie," she said. "Make haste, or the tea'll be as black as coal. Jessie, you're a pig! I do spoil her." Julian called the little dog to him. She came voraciously, her minute and rat-like body tense with greed. "She's a pretty dog," he said. "Yes," the lady rejoined proudly. "She's a show dog. She was give to me, and I wouldn't part with her for nuts, no, nor for diamonds neither. Would I, Jessie? Ah, well, dogs stick to you when men don't."