Pen, the strong and mighty Pen, wept a little. "Don’t snivel," said Bob. "It can’t be helped now, I suppose, unless you get a divorce. Do you want one?" "Oh, no!" said Pen. "Not at all!" Bob considered the matter for a few minutes. "I say, what makes you cry?" he asked. "I—I don’t know," said Penelope. "Girls are very rum. Baker says they are. He’s not married, you know. He says mules are easy to them. He drove mules once in India, he says. You know you are doing all this off your own bat, Pen, ain’t you? Why don’t you chuck it?" "Chuck what, dear?" "Oh, this notion of not letting on. Baker says it’s the rummest start he ever knew, and he says he’s seen some rum things in his life, especially when he was a sergeant in the Dublin Fusiliers. Can’t you chuck it?" "Oh, no, certainly not," said Pen, firmly. "It’s only, Bob, that I’m not used to it yet, you see." "Of course not," said Bob. "Being married is strange at first, I suppose. Baker says he knew a woman who was married four times, and by the fourth time she wasn’t nervous to speak of. But is it true, Pen, that you won’t tell any one who it is?" "I won’t," said Pen. "Bravo," cried Bob. "Stick to it. Oh, it will make granny so savage! Has Bill spoken about it to you?" "He laughs," said Pen. "He always does laugh." "He tells rattling good stories," said Bob. "He told me a splendid one about a man who stole a parrot the other day. I’ll tell it you sometime when I remember it. Is anything going to happen to-night, Pen?" Pen shivered. "Oh, dear, I don’t know. Mind you come, too, Bob." Bob vowed he wouldn’t miss coming for worlds. "I believe you’re thinking of telling ’em you’ve done it," he said, and Pen said she was thinking of telling them. "You won’t tell me who it is? I’m as close as wax," urged Bob. "I can’t, dear," said Pen. "Oh, by Jove, I remember Bill’s parrot story, Pen. A man stole a parrot, and when he was caught he said he took it for a lark. And the man who owned it said he’d make a bally fine judge at a bird-show." "Oh," said Pen, rather blankly; "but if he only took it for a lark, I suppose they let him off. Did they?" "Let him off what?" "Why—going to prison, of course," said Pen. "I don’t know," replied Bob, staring. "Don’t you see it’s a joke?" "Yes, I see, of course," said Pen. "Why, the man said it was a lark, and it was a parrot. I think it’s a very good story, Bob." And Bob went away wondering whether it was or not. "I’ll tell it to Baker," he said, thoughtfully. He turned up at nine o’clock that night with Titania, who was in a state of mind requiring instant attention from a physician.