"I don't . . ." His face had become suddenly dark brown, scarlet and then brownish purple. He stood droopingly looking at Tietjens' boots. "Oh! Ah! Well!" he said at last. "See you at Macmaster's to-night. . . . A great thing his knighthood. First-class man. . . ." That had been the first Tietjens had heard of Macmaster's knighthood; he had missed looking at the honours' list of that morning. Afterwards, dining alone with Sir Vincent and Lady Macmaster, he had seen, pinned up, a back view of the Sovereign doing something to Vincent; a photo for next morning's papers. From Macmaster's embarrassed hushings of Edith Ethel's explanation that the honour was for special services of a specific kind Tietjens guessed both the nature of Macmaster's service and the fact that the little man hadn't told Edith Ethel who, originally, had done the work. And--just like his girl--Tietjens had let it go at that. He didn't see why poor Vincent shouldn't have that little bit of prestige at home--under all the monuments! But he hadn't--though through all the evening Macmaster, with the solicitude and affection of a cringing Italian greyhound, had hastened from celebrity to celebrity to hang over Tietjens, and although Tietjens knew that his friend was grieved and appalled, like any woman, at his, Tietjens', going out again to France--Tietjens hadn't been able to look Macmaster again in the face. . . . He had felt ashamed. He had felt, for the first time in his life, ashamed! Even when he, Tietjens, had slipped away from the party--to go to his good fortune!--Macmaster had come panting down the stairs, running after him, through guests coming up. He had said: "Wait . . . You're not going. . . . I want to . . ." With a miserable and appalled glance he had looked up the stairs; Lady Macmaster might have come out too. His black, short beard quivering and his wretched eyes turned down, he had said: "I wanted to explain. . . . This miserable knighthood. . . ." Tietjens patted him on the shoulder, Macmaster being on the stairs above him. "It's all right, old man," he had said--and with real affection: "We've powlered up and down enough for a little thing like that not to . . . I'm very glad. . . ." Macmaster had whispered: "And Valentine. . . . She's not here to-night. . . ." He had exclaimed: "By God! . . . If I thought . . ." Tietjens had said: "It's all right. It's all right. She's at another party. . . . I'm going on . . ." Macmaster had looked at him doubtingly and with misery, leaning over and clutching the clammy banisters. "Tell her . . ." he said . . . "Good God! You may be killed. . . . I beg you . . . I beg you to believe . . . I will . . . Like the apple of my eye. . . ." In the swift glance that Tietjens took of his face he could see that Macmaster's eyes were full of tears. They both stood looking down at the stone stairs for a long time. Then Macmaster had said: "Well . . ."