“And what did you do in the war?” “I was in the Air Force. Jolly lucky too. I never had a scratch.” “But you scratched a Hun or two, I hope?” “I fancy I did,” he said. “Any medals?” I said. “I got the D.S.O.,” he replied simply. “You must let me shake your hand,” I said, “but remember that it is entirely without prejudice to the other matter. Do you happen to know how Miss Holt feels about it?” “O I think she thinks I’m a pretty decent sort,” he said. “Why do you like her?” I asked. “She doesn’t rouge.” “I loathe rouge,” he said warmly. I shook him by the hand again—again warning him that it was without prejudice. “Does she like you at all?” I asked. “She likes jazzing with me, I know,” he assured me. “Life isn’t a dance,” I replied. “No, of course not,” he said. “I know that. I know it’s a jolly serious affair.” “And you are proposing that Miss Holt should help you with the poultry?” I suggested. “She’d love it,” he said. “It’s a great lark.” “This means,” I said, “that you would have to live in the country, and give constant attention to the work. No more jazzing, and very little motoring except to the market? Do you think that’s an existence for a girl of brains and ambition and high spirits, who happens to be an artist too?” His face took on an expression of perplexity. “But—but—she’d be married,” he said. “So you think that love in an isolated cottage surrounded by roosters and incubators, with only one human companion, is a sufficient paradise to offer her? Upon my word, you seem to me to be uncommonly sure of your fascination. She would have to be very fond of you to give up her present home and pursuits, even with the society of a very aged man occasionally thrust upon her, and take to chicken-farming. Doesn’t it occur to you that that would be a big sacrifice?” “But—but one must begin,” he said. “The poultry business would only be a start. We might go on to much bigger things.” “It will be time to talk about marriage,” I said, “when you have made some of that progress.” “Then you refuse to consider me?” he asked ruefully. “Not at all,” I said. “It is not for me to decide anything. Rose has a father. But I should certainly put what obstacles I could in your way, until you had something better to propose as a means of livelihood than a chicken-farm in the air.” “But you don’t forbid me to see her, or anything like that?” he asked eagerly. “Of course not. And I couldn’t if I wanted to. See as much of her as she wants.” “And if she told you that I—if she ever said anything about marrying me—you wouldn’t put a spoke in the wheel, would you?” “I should do nothing to discourage her,” I said—“not from any desire to see her marry you, but for the opposite reason. Old though I am, I have not forgotten that forbidden fruit is the most attractive. So I shouldn’t forbid you.” “I say, that’s brainy,” he said, with genuine admiration. “I should never have thought of that.”