“Oh yes; I’ve told him everything; but he doesn’t understand. One has to hold an Englishman by the head, you know, and kind of force it down. He has never heard of a woman being—” But here Mrs. Headway checked herself, while Littlemore filled out the blank. “What are you laughing at? It doesn’t matter,” she went on; “there are more things in the world than those people have heard of. However, I like them very much; at least I like _him_. He’s such a regular gentleman; do you know what I mean? Only, as he stays too long and he ain’t amusing, I’m very glad to see you for a change.” “Do you mean I’m not a regular gentleman?” Littlemore asked. “No indeed; you used to be out there. I think you were the only one—and I hope you are still. That’s why I recognised you the other night—I might have cut you, you know.” “You can still, if you like. It’s not too late.” “Oh no, that’s not what I want. I want you to help me.” “To help you?” Mrs. Headway fixed her eyes for a moment on the door. “Do you suppose that man is there still?” “The member of Parliament?” “No, I mean Max. Max is my courier,” said Mrs. Headway with some impressiveness. “I haven’t the least idea. I’ll see if you like.” “No—in that case I should have to give him an order, and I don’t know what in the world to ask him to do. He sits there for hours; with my simple habits I afford him no employment. I’m afraid I’ve no grand imagination.” “The burden of grandeur!” said Littlemore. “Oh yes, I’m very grand for clothes and things. But on the whole I like it. I’m only afraid he’ll hear. I talk so very loud. That’s another thing I’m trying to get over.” “Why do you want to be different?” “Well, because everything else is so,” Mrs. Headway bravely pleaded. “Did you hear that I had lost my husband?” she went on abruptly. “Do you mean—a—Mr.—?” and Littlemore paused with an effect that didn’t seem to come home to her. “I mean Mr. Headway,” she said with dignity. “I’ve been through a good deal since you saw me last: marriage and death and trouble and all sorts of things.” “You had been through a good deal of marriage before that,” her old friend ventured to observe. She rested her eyes on him with extravagant intensity and without a change of colour. “Not so much, not so much!—” “Not so much as might have been thought?” “Not so much as was reported. I forget whether I was married when I saw you last.” “It was one of the reports,” said Littlemore. “But I never saw Mr. Beck.” “You didn’t lose much; he was too mean to live. I’ve done certain things in my life that I’ve never understood; no wonder others can’t do much with them. But that’s all over! Are you sure Max doesn’t hear?” she asked quickly. “Not at all sure. But if you suspect him of listening at the keyhole I’d send him away.” “I don’t think he does that. I’m always rushing to the door.”