Mr. Wrenn was a courteous man, and though he was under the impression that his visitor was raving, he did not show it. “Perhaps I had better see Lord Tilbury,” he suggested, rising. “By the way, my niece, Miss Derrick. Kay, my dear, Mr. Shotter.” The departure of the third party and the sudden institution of the intimacies of a _tête-à-tête_ had the usual effect of producing a momentary silence. Then Kay moved away from the window and came to the desk. “Did you say you had come from America?” she asked, fiddling with Mr. Wrenn’s editorial pencil. She had no desire to know, but she supposed she must engage this person in conversation. “From America, yes. Yes, from America.” “Is this your first visit to England?” asked Kay, stifling a yawn. “Oh, no. I was at school in England.” “Really? Where?” “At Wrykyn.” Kay’s attitude of stiff aloofness relaxed. She became interested. “Good gracious! Of course!” She looked upon him quite benevolently. “A friend of yours was talking to me about you only yesterday--Willoughby Braddock.” “Do you know the Bradder?” gulped Sam, astounded. “I’ve known him all my life.” A most extraordinary sensation flooded over Sam. It was hard to analyse, but its effects were thoroughly definite. At the discovery that this wonderful girl knew the old Bradder and that they could pave the way to a beautiful friendship by talking about the old Bradder, the office of Pyke’s _Home Companion_ became all at once flooded with brilliant sunshine. Birds twittered from the ceiling, and blended with their notes was the soft music of violins and harps. “You really know the Bradder?” “We were children together.” “What a splendid chap!” “Yes, he’s a dear.” “What a corker!” “Yes!” “What an egg!” “Yes. Tell me, Mr. Shotter,” said Kay wearying of this eulogy, “do you remember a boy at your school named Bates?” Sam’s face darkened. Time had softened the anguish of that moment outside the Angry Cheese, but the sting still remained. “Yes, I do.” “Willoughby Braddock told me that you once beat Bates with a walking stick.” “Yes.” “A large walking stick?” “Yes.” “Did you beat him hard?” “Yes, as hard as ever I could lay it in.” A little sigh of gratification escaped Kay. “Ah!” she said. In the course of the foregoing conversation the two had been diminishing inch by inch the gap which had separated them at its outset, so that they had come to be standing only a short distance apart; and now, as she heard those beautiful words, Kay looked up into Sam’s face with a cordial, congratulatory friendliness which caused him to quiver like a smitten blanc-mange. Then, while he was still reeling, she smiled. And it is at this point that the task of setting down the sequence of events becomes difficult for the historian. For, briefly, what happened next was that Sam, groping forward in a bemused fashion and gathering her clumsily into his arms, kissed Kay. § 4