Mr. Priestley threw a surprised glance towards his buttonhole. Certainly there was a carnation in it, of a rather uncommon mauve hue; equally certainly there had been none when he left his own carnationless abode. Evidently the high-priest must have set it there, as a floral tribute of respect to such an uncommon palate. Mr. Priestley’s heart warmed still more towards that dignitary. “What sort of person did you expect, then?” he ventured, greatly daring. The girl laughed a little awkwardly. “Oh, well, you understand, surely. I mean, we needn’t really have met there after all. I wouldn’t mind being seen with you anywhere.” “Thank you,” murmured the mystified Mr. Priestley. The tone was that of a compliment, but it seemed to him that the words might have been better chosen. “You see you’re not—well, not very like the description you gave me in your letter, are you?” Mr. Priestley affected to consider the point. “Well, not _very_ much, no,” he admitted. “_I_ shouldn’t call you sturdy and powerful-looking, six-foot high and forty round the chest,” pursued the girl with innocent candour. “Did I say that?” murmured Mr. Priestley, aghast. “You know you did,” said his companion with gentle severity. “Why?” Mr. Priestley hesitated. This was becoming very difficult; very difficult indeed. “Well,” he floundered, “because I thought—because it seemed more likely that—because I hoped——” He drew his handkerchief from his sleeve and mopped his brow. “You mean, because you thought I should be more likely to give you a favourable reply in those circumstances?” “Exactly!” Mr. Priestley said with relief. “Yes, that was it. Exactly.” “It wasn’t very straight of you,” the girl commented in severe tones, but there was just a suspicion of a smile at the corners of her mouth. Mr. Priestley caught sight of the smile and took heart. “No,” he agreed contritely, drawing more deductions, “I—I’m afraid it wasn’t. I see that now.” Had the unhappy girl been answering an advertisement in a matrimonial paper, or what? Most decidedly she wanted all the looking after she could get. What were her brothers doing? Perhaps she hadn’t got any. Then what had her parents been doing not to give her some? Most certainly somebody was very much to blame. “But after all, I suppose one could hardly expect straightness from _you_, could one?” surprisingly remarked the object of his solicitude. Mr. Priestley started slightly. “No, no,” he assented, playing for safety. “No, of course not. Naturally. I quite understand that.” There was a short pause while the girl sipped her coffee with a thoughtful air and Mr. Priestley tried hard to imagine who he was supposed to be, what the favourable reply had been about, and why one could hardly expect straightness from him. He did not succeed. “Well, I suppose you’ll do,” remarked the girl at last. She spoke without any degree of enthusiasm. It appeared that she had been debating the point.