Miss Dutton busied herself with her supper. The Nun ate little; most of the time she sat with her pretty hands clasped on the table in front of her. Suddenly she began to tell what proved to be a rather long story about a man named Tommy--everybody except Andy knew whom she meant. She told this story in a low, pleasant, but somewhat monotonous voice. In truth the Nun was a trifle prolix and prosy, but she also looked so nice that they were quite content to listen and to look. It appeared that Tommy had done what no man should do; he had made love to two girls at once. For a long time all went well; but one day Tommy, being away from the sources of supply of cash (as a rule he transacted all his business in notes), wrote two cheques--the Nun specified the amounts, one being considerably larger than the other--placed them in two envelopes, and proceeded to address them wrongly. Each lady got the other lady's cheque, and--"Well, they wanted to know about it," said the Nun, with a pensive smile. So, being acquaintances, they laid their heads together, and the next time Tommy (who had never discovered his mistake) asked lady number one to dinner, she asked lady number two, "and when Tommy arrived," said the Nun, "they told him he'd find it cheaper that way, because there'd only be one tip for the waiter!" The Nun, having reached her point, gave a curiously pretty little gurgle of laughter. "Rather neat!" said Billy Foot. "And did they chuck him?" "They'd agreed to, but Maud weakened on it. Nellie did." "Poor old Tommy!" mused Harry Belfield. It was not a story of surpassing merit whether it were regarded from the moral or from the artistic point of view; but the Nun had grown delighted with herself as she told it, and her delight made her look even more pretty. Andy could not keep his eyes off her; she perceived his honest admiration and smiled serenely at him across the table. "I suppose it was Nellie who was to have the small cheque?" Billy Foot suggested. "No; it was Maud." "Then I drink to Maud as a true woman and a forgiving creature!" Andy broke into a hearty enjoying laugh. Nothing had passed which would stand a critical examination in humour, much less in wit; but Andy was very happy. He had never had such a good time, never seen so many gay and pretty women, never been so in touch with the holiday side of life. The Nun delighted him; Miss Dutton was a pleasantly acid pickle to stimulate the palate for all this rich food. Billy Foot and Harry looked at him, looked at one another, and laughed. "They're laughing at you," said Miss Dutton in her most sardonic tone. "I don't mind. Of course they are! I'm such an outsider." "Worth a dozen of either of them," she remarked, with a calmly impersonal air that reduced her compliment to a mere statement of fact. "Oh, I heard!" cried Harry. "You don't think much of us, do you, Sally?" "I come here every night," said Miss Dutton. "Consequently I know."