"Am I a stranger, old chap?" she said, taking off her glove, and letting her hand hang loosely just in front of his nose, with the back towards him. Vane nodded approvingly, though he said nothing; as a keen dog lover it pleased him intensely to see that the girl knew how to make friends with them. And not everyone--even though they know the method to use with a doubtful dog--has the nerve to use it. . . . For a moment Binks looked at her appraisingly; then he thrust forward a cold wet nose and sniffed once at the hand in front of him. His mind was made up. Just one short, welcoming lick, and he trotted back to his hole in the wainscot. Important matters seemed to him to have been neglected far too long as it was. . . . "Splendid," said Vane quietly. "The other member of the firm is now in love with you as well. . . ." She looked at Vane in silence, and suddenly she shivered slightly. "I think," she said, "that we had better talk about rather less dangerous topics. . . ." She glanced round her, and then went to the window and stood looking out into the bright sunlight. "What topping rooms you've got," she said after a moment. "They aren't bad, are they?" remarked Vane briefly. "What do you say to some tea? My devoted landlady is preparing a repast which millionaires would squander their fortunes for. Her sister happens to live in Devonshire. . . ." "So you were expecting me?" she cried, turning round and facing him. "I was," answered Vane. She laughed shortly. "Well--what do you think of dyspepsia and Vichy?" "I've been trying not to think of him ever since lunch," he answered grimly. She came slowly towards him, and suddenly Vane caught both her hands. "Joan, Joan," he cried, and his voice was a little hoarse, "my dear, you can't. . . . You just can't. . . ." "What great brain was it who said something really crushing about that word 'Can't?'" she said lightly. "Then you just mustn't." His grip almost hurt her, but she made no effort to take away her hands. "The trouble, my very dear friend, seems to me to be that--I just must." Gently she disengaged her hands, and at that moment Mrs. Green arrived with the tea. "The dearest and kindest woman in London," said Vane with a smile to Joan. "Since the days of my callow youth Mrs. Green has watched over me like a mother. . . ." "I expect he wanted some watching too, Mrs. Green," cried Joan. Mrs. Green laughed, and set down the tea. "Show me the young gentleman that doesn't, Miss," she said, "and I'll show you one that's no manner of use to anybody. . . ." She arranged the plates and cups and then with a final--"You'll ring if you want more butter, sir"--she left the room. "Think of it, Joan," said Vane. "Ring if you want more butter! Is it a phrase from a dead language?" He pulled up a chair. . . . "Will you preside, please, and decant the juice?"