"Well, that must account for the horrible energy with which you're eating now." He looked round the table. "Here, hang it," he added, in a sudden tone of horror, "you've finished the sardines!" "I am sorry, George," I said penitently. "I have been in a very exalted, spiritual meditation, and I did not notice what I was eating." He sat down with a disbelieving grunt. "Well, next time an attack comes on, get out some of those mouldy biscuits. This is a nice way to treat one who has been slaving for your benefit. I was looking forward to those sardines all the way home." "What have you been doing?" I inquired, in a timely effort to turn the conversation into a less poignant channel. George opened a bottle of Bass, and helped himself to an impressive slice of cake. "Well," he said, "I shoved our names down for the double punting all right. As far as I can see, we've got a jolly good chance, if you'll only take it seriously." "I take it very seriously," I interrupted. "Barton was there," went on George; "he is entering with his brother. It would be rather fun if we were to run up against them in the finals." "We are certain to do that," I observed, "if we get so far." "I went back to Barton's place to lunch," said George. "And, oh, by the way, I found out all about the bronze-haired girl at Otter's Holt. Barton knows her well." I struck a match to light my cigarette. "Indeed!" I remarked carelessly. "Yes; she's married." I suppose I must have opened my mouth, for the cigarette dropped on the table. "She's what?" I exclaimed, after a moment's pause. "Married," said George, with a laugh. "Her husband's in the wool market. His name's Congreve; Barton says he's a very decent fellow. They've taken Otter's Holt for the summer." If you can imagine the end of the world coming just as you had inherited a large fortune, you will get a very fair idea of my emotions at that moment. I stared at George in a kind of ghastly amazement; then, with an effort, I moistened my lips. "I don't believe it," I said. "It's true, though," said George. "Barton is coming over to stay with them next month. Just my atrocious luck! I always fall in love with women who either hate me or have already got husbands." I suppose something in my face must have attracted his attention, for he stopped and looked at me curiously. "What's the matter, old man?" he asked. "Feeling bad?" With a big effort I pulled myself together, and picked up the cigarette which I had dropped. "Nothing much, George," I said. "I've got a bit of a headache. Too many sardines, I expect." "You have been sitting about in the sun without a hat again," said George severely. "I told you what would happen. Now, if you had a little less hair, like me, you might have a little more sense." He got up and put his hand on my shoulder. "You tumble in and lie down," he added. "I'll wash up." And George did.