“If they weren’t nice to you,” said Sam vehemently, “they ought to be shot. And I’d like to see the fellow who wouldn’t be fond of you.” Kay began to have a sense of defeat, not unlike that which comes to a scientific boxer who has held off a rushing opponent for several rounds and feels himself weakening. “The first time I saw that photograph,” said Sam, “was one night when I had come in tired out after a day’s fishing.” “Talking about fish----” “It was pretty dark in the hut, with only an oil lamp on the table, and I didn’t notice it at first. Then, when I was having a smoke after dinner, my eye caught something tacked up on the wall. I went across to have a look, and, by Jove, I nearly dropped the lamp!” “Why?” “Why? Because it was such a shock.” “So hideous?” “So lovely, so radiant, so beautiful, so marvellous.” “I see.” “So heavenly, so----” “Yes? There’s Claude Bates over at that table.” The effect of these words on her companion was so electrical that it seemed to Kay that she had at last discovered a theme which would take his mind off other and disconcerting topics. Sam turned a dull crimson; his eyes hardened; his jaw protruded; he struggled for speech. “The tick! The blister! The blighter! The worm! The pest! The hound! The bounder!” he cried. “Where is he?” He twisted round in his chair, and having located the companion of his boyhood, gazed at the back of his ridged and shining head with a malevolent scowl. Then, taking up a hard and nobby roll, he poised it lovingly. “You mustn’t.” “Just this one!” “No!” “Very well.” Sam threw down the roll with a gesture of resignation. Kay looked at him in alarm. “I had no idea you disliked him so much as that!” “He ought to have his neck broken.” “Haven’t you forgiven him yet for stealing jam sandwiches at school?” “It has nothing whatever to do with jam sandwiches. If you really want to know why I loathe and detest the little beast, it is because he had the nerve--the audacity--the insolence--the immortal rind to--to--er”--he choked--“to kiss you. Blast him!” said Sam, wholly forgetting the dictates of all good etiquette books respecting the kind of language suitable in the presence of the other sex. Kay gasped. It is embarrassing for a girl to find what she had supposed to be her most intimate private affairs suddenly become, to all appearance, public property. “How do you know that?” she exclaimed. “Your uncle told me this morning.” “He had no business to.” “Well, he did. And what it all boils down to,” said Sam, “is this--will you marry me?” “Will I--what?” “Marry me.” For a moment Kay stared speechlessly; then, throwing her head back, she gave out a short, sharp scream of laughter which made a luncher at the next table stab himself in the cheek with an oyster fork. The luncher looked at her reproachfully. So did Sam. “You seem amused,” he said coldly. “Of course I’m amused,” said Kay.