"A man's only got one life," Andy was thinking to himself for the hundredth time as, having done his fifteen miles, he came opposite the entry to Nutley on his way home after his walk. What a lot of thoughts and memories there had been on that walk! Walking alone, a man is the victim--or the beneficiary--of any number of stray recollections, ideas, or fancies. He had even thought of--and smiled over--sardonic Miss Dutton's sardonic remark that he was worth ten of either Billy Foot or--Harry Belfield! Well, the poor girl had come one cropper; allowances must be made. Cool, serene, with what might appear to the eyes of less happy people an almost insolently secure possession of fortune's favour, Harry Belfield stood at Nutley gate. Andy, hot and dusty, winced at being seen by him; Harry was so remote from any disarray. Andy's heart leapt at the sight of his friend--and seemed to stand still in the presence of his judge. Because the thing--the problem--must come out directly. There was no more possibility of shirking it. Vivien was flitting--her touch of the ground seemed so light--down the drive, past the deep dark water, to join Harry for a stroll. His invitation to a stroll on that fine still Sunday afternoon had not been given without significance nor received without a thousand tremblings. So it would appear that it was Andy's ill-fortune to interrupt. Harry was smoking. He took his cigar out of his mouth to greet Andy. "Treadmill again, old boy? Getting the fat off?" "You're the one man I wanted to see." Then Andy's face fell; it was an awful moment. "I want to ask your advice." "Look sharp!" said Harry, smiling. "I've an appointment. She'll be here any minute." "Jack Rock's offered to turn the shop over to me, as soon as I learn the business. I say, I--I suppose I ought to accept? He says it's worth hard on five hundred a year. I say, keep that dark; he told me not to tell anybody." "Gad, is it?" said Harry, and whistled softly. Vivien came in sight of him, and walked more slowly, dallying with anticipation. "Splendid of him, isn't it? I say, I suppose I ought to--to think it over?" He had been doing nothing else for what seemed eternity. Harry laughed--that merry irresponsible laugh of his. "Blue suits your complexion, Andy. It seems damned funny--but five hundred a year! Worth that, is it now, really? And he'd probably leave you anything else he has." Silently-flitting Vivien was just behind Harry now. Andy saw her, Harry was unaware of her presence. She laid her finger on her lips, making a confidant of Andy, in her joy at a trick on her lover. "Of course it--well, it sort of defines matters--ties you down, eh?" Harry's laugh broke out again. "Andy, old boy, you'll look infernally funny, pricing joints to old Dove or Miss Pink! Oh, I say, I don't think you can do it, Andy!" "Don't you, Harry?" Andy's tone was eager, beseeching, full of hope.