But the surprising fact stood out that Martha was a nice girl, a likeable girl. Even if she had believed the stories about him. Even if... No, it hadn't seemed like Martha. Henry was staring at Mrs Ames's tortoise-shell comb. Martha was looking out the window, tapping on the sill with a white-gloved hand. A moment of the old sense of proprietorship over Martha came upon him. 'Silly,' he remarked, muttering it rather crossly, 'wearing white gloves into Chicago! Be black in ten minutes. Women-folks haven't got much sense.' Martha gave this remark the silence it deserved. She dropped her eyes, studied the shopping bag. Then, very quietly, she said this:-- 'Henry--it hasn't been very easy--but I _have_ wanted to tell you about your stories.... 'What about'em?' he asked, ungraciously enough. And he dug with his cane at the grimy green plush of the seat-back before him. 'Oh, they're so good, Henry! I didn't know--I didn't realise--just everybody's talking about them! _Everybody!_ You've no idea! It's been splendid of you to--you know, to answer people that way.' I don't think Martha meant to touch on the one most difficult topic. They both reddened again. After a longer pause, she tried it again. 'I just _love_ reading them myself. And I wish you could hear the things Jim--Mr Merchant--says....' She was actually dragging him in! ... He's really a judge. You've no idea, Henry!' He met Kipling at a tea in New York. He knows lots of people like--you know, editors and publishers, people like that. And he crossed the ocean once with Richard Harding Davis. He says you're doing a very remarkable thing... original note.... Sunbury is going to be proud of you. He wouldn't let anything--you know, personal--influence his judgment. He's very fair-minded.' Henry dug and dug at the plush. She was pulling at her left glove. What on earth!... She had it off. 'I want you to know, Henry. Such a wonderful thing has happened to me. See!' On her third finger glittered a diamond in a circlet of gold. 'He wanted to give me a cluster, Henry. I wouldn't let him. I just didn't want him to be too extravagant. I love this stone.. I picked it out myself. At Welding's. And then he wished it on. And, Henry, I'm so happy! I can't bear to think that you and I--anybody--you know....' Henry was critically, moodily, appraising the diamond. 'Can't we be friends, Henry?' 'Sure we can! Of course!' 'I just can't tell you how wonderful it is. I want everybody else to be happy.' 'I'm happy!' he announced, explosively, between set teeth. She thought this over. 'I've heard a little talk, of course. I've been interested, too. Yes, I have! Cicely's a perfectly dandy girl. And she's--you know, _that_ way. Knows so much about books and things. I didn't realise--that you were--you know, really--well, engaged?' There was a long pause. Henry dug and dug with his stick. Finally, eyes wandering a little but mouth still set, he said huskily:-- 'Yes, we're engaged.'