Partially reassured, Mr. Wrenn went on with his meal. He finished his toast and reached for his cup. “Wassatie?” “Only a quarter-past.” “Sure your washrah?” “I put it right yesterday.” At this moment there came faintly from afar a sweet, musical chiming. “There’s the college clock striking the quarter,” said Kay. Mr. Wrenn’s fever subsided. If it was only a quarter-past he was on velvet. He could linger and chat for a while. He could absolutely dally. He pushed back his chair and lighted a cigarette with the air of a leisured man. “Kay, my dear,” he said, “I’ve been thinking--about this young fellow Shotter.” Kay jumped. By an odd coincidence, she had herself been thinking of Sam at that moment. It annoyed her to think of Sam, but she constantly found herself doing it. “I really think we ought to invite him to dinner one night.” “No!” “But he seems so anxious to be friendly. Only yesterday he asked me if he could drop round some time and borrow the garden roller. He said he understood that that was always the first move in the suburbs toward establishing good neighbourly relations.” “If you ask him to dinner I shall go out.” “I can’t understand why you dislike him so much.” “Well, I just do.” “He seems to admire you tremendously.” “Does he?” “He keeps talking about you--asking what you were like as a child and whether you ever did you hair differently and things of that kind.” “Oh!” “I rather wish you didn’t object to him so much. I should like to see something of him out of office hours. I find him a very pleasant fellow myself, and extremely useful in the office. He has taken that Aunt Ysobel page off my hands. You remember how I used to hate having to write that?” “Is that all he does?” Mr. Wrenn chuckled. “By no means,” he said amusedly. “What are you laughing at?” “I was thinking,” explained Mr. Wrenn, “of something that happened yesterday. Cordelia Blair called to see me with one of her usual grievances----” “Oh, no!” said Kay sympathetically. Her uncle, she knew, was much persecuted by female contributors who called with grievances at the offices of Pyke’s _Home Companion_; and of all these gifted creatures, Miss Cordelia Blair was the one he feared most. “What was the trouble this time?” “Apparently the artist who is illustrating _Hearts Aflame_ had drawn Leslie Mordyke in a lounge suit instead of dress clothes.” “Why don’t you bite these women’s heads off when they come bothering you? You shouldn’t be so nice to them.”