“Mrs. Crowdie,” he said, vigorously changing the subject, as a man can who has been leading the conversation, “if it isn’t a very rude question, may I ask where you get the extraordinary ham you always have whenever I lunch with you? I’ve been all over the world, and I’ve never eaten anything like it. I’m not sure whether it’s the ham itself, or some secret in the cooking.” Mrs. Crowdie glanced at Katharine’s face once more, and then looked at him. Crowdie also turned towards him, and Katharine slowly unclasped her hands beneath the table, as though the bitterness of death were passed. “Oh--the ham?” repeated Mrs. Crowdie. “They’re Yorkshire hams, aren’t they, Walter? You always order them.” “No, my dear,” answered Crowdie. “They’re American. We’ve not had any English ones for two or three years. Fletcher gets them. He’s a better judge than the cook. Griggs is quite right--there’s a trick about boiling them--something to do with changing the water a certain number of times before you put in the wine. Are you going to set up housekeeping, Griggs? I should think that oatmeal and water and dried herrings would be your sort of fare, from what I remember.” “Something of that kind,” answered Griggs. “Anything’s good enough that will support life.” The luncheon came to an end without any further incident, and the conversation ran on in the very smallest of small talk. Then Griggs, who was a very busy man, lighted a cigarette and took his departure. As he shook hands with Katharine, and bowed in his rather foreign way, he looked at her once more, as though she interested him very much. “I hope I shall see you again,” said Katharine, quietly. “I hope so, indeed,” answered Griggs. “You’re very kind to say so.” When he was gone the other three remained together in the little front room, which has been so often mentioned. “Will you sit for me a little longer, Miss Lauderdale?” asked Crowdie. “Oh, don’t work any more just yet, Walter!” cried Hester, with sudden anxiety. “Why? What’s the matter?” enquired Crowdie in some surprise. “You know what Mr. Griggs was just saying at luncheon. You work so hard! You’ll overdo it some day. It’s perfectly true, you know. You never give yourself any rest!” “Except during about one-half of the year, my dear, when you and I do absolutely nothing together in the most beautiful places in the world--in the most perfect climates, and without one solitary little shadow of a care for anything on earth but our two selves.” “Yes--I know. But you work all the harder the rest of the time. Besides, we haven’t been abroad this year, and you say we can’t get away for at least two months. Do give yourself time to breathe--just after luncheon, too. I’m sure it’s not good for him, is it Katharine?” she asked, appealing to her friend.