"Wish it out." Mr. Townsend was lighting a cigarette. "And when you've wished it out, what then?" "Damn you. You do nothing else but jibe and jeer at me." "My dear Archie, your manners are not good." "Curse my manners!" "By all means, if you wish it. Only I am inclined to think there won't be very much to curse." Lord Archibald ground out an oath between his teeth, and he groaned. Mr. Townsend went on; he was enjoying his cigarette. "By the way, have you done anything for the Honour of the Club?" His visitor half rose from his seat, then sank back into it again. "No! You know I haven't! Don't talk of it! No!" "I have no desire to talk of it. It is scarcely a question of talk. It is rather a question of do." His hearer covered his face with his hands and shuddered. There was something in his host's eyes, as he smilingly regarded him, which suggested possibilities--and also limitations--of a distinctly curious sort. He kept his glance fixed on his companion, and, as he spoke again, he expelled through his nostrils the smoke of his cigarette. "On the whole, perhaps, your policy of postponement may turn out fortunately for both of us. You will remember that under certain circumstances I reserved the right to nominate a candidate--a candidate, that is, for your attention. The circumstances which I thought might arise have arisen." "Townsend!" "Archie!" Lord Archibald removed his hands from his face. The two men looked at each other--the one face ghastly, haggard, frightened; the other easy, careless, smiling. "Do you mean it?" Lord Archibald's voice was husky. Mr. Townsend flicked the ash from his cigarette. "I am in the habit, in matters of moment, of meaning what I say, although that may not be the case with you." The airily-suggested insinuation stung. The other burst into a sudden blaze of passion. "What do you mean by that?" The host met his visitor's furious gaze with a smile which seemed to convey a fulness of meaning which was sufficient to subdue the other's wrath. "What did you mean by asking me if I meant what I said? Didn't you know?" Lord Archibald turned his face away. Taking up the tumbler of soda and whisky he drained it of its contents. Getting up from his chair, he went to the sideboard to replenish. While he was in the act of doing so, and his back towards his host, he asked a question. "Who is it?" "A woman." Lord Archibald spun round like a teetotum, a decanter in one hand, a tumbler in the other. "A woman? Reggie? You--you don't mean Miss Jardine?" Mr. Townsend's lips curled. In some subtle way his countenance was transfigured. The ease and the carelessness vanished. He became all bitterness and gall. "Beaupré, I am inclined to think that you are the most consummate ass of my acquaintance. Why will you perpetually harp upon a single string? You are so utterly inept that the wonder is I have borne with you so long. Might I ask you not eternally to play the fool?"