“I knew we were bound to come round to that at last. Every man makes an idiot of himself some time in his life, but it’s not fair to bring up his ravings against him when he has returned to his right mind. And why should you drag in these stale controversies? The women will always settle the matter to their own satisfaction among themselves, and the men will laugh over it in the smoking-room and say: ‘It pleases them to think so, and as long as they do no harm they may as well be let alone.’” “There you are again, Dick, with your nasty cynical philosophy! I am sure frontier life has not been good for you. You want educating, and I rather think that Georgia is the person to undertake the task, if you haven’t disgusted her too deeply. For your own sake, my dear boy, I should advise you to try and appease her. It is not every man of whom she is willing to make a friend.” “Stuff!” said Dick, ungratefully. “When I want friends I prefer men. You forget that it’s a case of ‘once bit, twice shy,’ with me.” “Oh, very well; don’t blame me if you turn out a horrid old bear, always saying nasty things about women, because you don’t know a scrap about them. You will soon see that Georgia has no difficulty in finding friends. She might have married hundreds of times.” “This seems to import a new element into the discussion. Why are these hundreds of presumably unhappy men introduced? Is it to show the danger of seeking Miss Keeling’s friendship? I have already had experience in that direction, you know.” “It was merely a piece of historical retrospect--and a warning for you. Don’t say that I let you go to Kubbet-ul-Haj blindfold. The man who would suit Georgia must be at the head of some big hospital, so that she can see plenty of good operations,” and Mabel smiled gleefully at the disgust depicted on her brother’s face. CHAPTER II. A COMMUNITY OF INTERESTS. About noon the next day Dick North left his uncle’s house with the intention of going to his club. It was a rough windy morning, with occasional scuds of rain, and when one of these overtook Dick as he was crossing the street, he found to his disgust that from the force of habit he had come out without an umbrella. Taking refuge in a doorway, for the shower proved to be a sharp one, he discovered that his asylum was already in the possession of a lady, in whom he quickly recognised Miss Keeling. She was looking very smart in a business-like ulster and a neat little felt hat, from the brim of which the rain-drops were falling on her wind-blown hair, for the umbrella she held in her hand--a mere mass of metal spikes and shreds of silk--could only be called an umbrella by courtesy, and had evidently given way before the force of the gale. “Any port in a storm!” she said, merrily, as she shook hands with Dick. “I am sorry I can’t offer to lend you an umbrella,” he remarked, “for I am worse off than yourself.”