"Do things between men and women change much, in spite of all the talk? You've read history, I haven't." "Yes, I have to a certain extent. I don't know that I'm inclined to give you the result of my researches. Not very cheerful! And, meanwhile, there's Andy Hayes!" "I never do it," the Nun repeated firmly. "Besides, in this case I've not been asked. I'm not the sort of girl he would fall in love with." "Will you forgive an old man's compliment, Miss Flower, if I say I don't know the sort of man who wouldn't--I'll put it mildly, I'll say mightn't--fall in love with the sort of girl you are?" "I forgive it, but it's not as clever as you generally are. Andy always wants to help. Well, I don't want anybody to help me, you see." "The delight of the eyes?" he suggested. "What? That doesn't count? Only such as you can afford to say so!" "I don't think it counts much with Andy. He appreciates, oh yes! He almost stared me out of countenance the first time we met; and that's supposed to be difficult--in London! But I don't think it really counts for a great deal. Andy's not a love-making man; he's emphatically a marrying man." "You draw that distinction? But the love-making men marry?" "In the end perhaps--generally rather by accident. They haven't the instinct." "You've thought about these things a good deal, Miss Flower." "I live almost entirely among men, you see," she answered simply. "And they show me more than they show girls of--of that other class. Shall I call again on your reminiscences?" She smiled suddenly and brightly. "Miss Wellgood's being awfully nice to me. She's been here twice, and I'm going to tea at Nutley to-morrow." "She's one of the dearest girls in the world," said Belfield. "Harry's a lucky fellow." He glanced at the Nun. "I hope he appreciates it properly. I believe he does." She offered no comment, and a rather blank silence followed. If Belfield had sought a reassurance, he had not received it. On the other hand she gave away no secrets. She, like the silence, was blank, looking away from him, down High Street. The Bird passed the window; Jack Rock trotted by on a young horse; one of his business equipages clattered along not far behind him; the quiet old street basked and dozed in the sun. "What a dear rest it is--this little town!" said the Nun softly. "Surely nothing but what's happy and peaceful and pleasant can ever happen here?" Sally Dutton came by, returning from a stroll to which she had betaken herself on Belfield's arrival. "Well, Sally, been amusing yourself?" the Nun called. "The streets present their usual gay and animated aspect," observed Miss Dutton, as she entered the Lion. "There are the two sides of the question," laughed Belfield. "The line between peace and dullness--each man draws it for himself--in pencil--with india-rubber handy! I'm really afraid we're not amusing Miss Dutton?" "Oh yes, she's all right. That's only her way." She smiled reflectively; Sally always amused her.