“He was engaged, Lizzie,” he went on quietly, and he heard her breath come quick—“engaged to that lady.” He pointed to a picture of Sybil on the mantelpiece. “No one wouldn’t look at me with ’er about,” said the girl thoughtfully. “She loved him very dearly, Lizzie—even as he loved her. I don’t think I’ve ever known two people who loved one another quite so much. And——” for a moment Jimmy faltered, then he went on steadily: “I ought to know in this case, because I’m engaged to her now.” And because the Cockney brain is quick, she saw—and understood. “So if yer doctor friend succeeds,” she said, “she’ll give yer the chuck?” “Yes, Lizzie,” answered Jimmy gravely, “she’ll give me the chuck.” “And yer love ’er? Orl right, old sport. I can see it in yer face. Strikes me”—and she gave a little laugh that was sadder than any tears—“strikes me you ’anded out the dirty end of the stick to both of us when you come round that street to-day.” “Strikes me I did, Lizzie,” he agreed. “But, you see, I’ve told you this because I want you to understand that we’re both of us in it—we’ve both of us got to play the game.” “Play the game!” she muttered. “Wot d’yer want me to do?” “The doctor doesn’t want him excited, Lizzie,” explained Lethbridge. “But he wants him to stop here to-night, so that he can operate to-morrow. Will you tell him that you want him to stop here?—and stay here with him if you like.” “And to-morrer she’ll tike ’im.” The girl was staring at Sybil’s photograph. “’E won’t look at me—when ’e knows. Gawd! why did yer find ’im—why did yer find ’im? We was ’appy, I tells yer—’appy!” She was crying now—crying as a child cries, weakly and pitifully, and Lethbridge stood watching her in silence. “Poor kid!” he said at length. “Poor little kid!” “I don’t want yer pity,” she flared up. “I want my man.” And then, as she saw Jimmy looking at the photograph on the mantelpiece, in an instant she was beside him. “Sorry, old sport,” she whispered impulsively. “Reckon you’ve backed a ruddy loser yourself. I’ll do it. Shake ’ands. I guess I knew all along that Bill wasn’t really my style. And I’ve ’ad my year.” “You’re lucky, Lizzie,” said Jimmy gravely, still holding her hand. “Very, very lucky.” “I’ve ’ad my year,” she went on, and for a moment her thoughts seemed far away. “A ’ole year—and——” she pulled herself together and started patting her hair. “And what, Lizzie?” said Jimmy quietly. “Never you mind, mister,” she answered. “That’s my blooming business.” And then the door opened and Mainwaring came in. “Does Lizzie agree?” he asked eagerly. “Yes, Bill—she agrees,” said Jimmy. “What do you think of him?” “As far as I can see there is every hope that an operation will be completely successful. There is evidently pressure on the right side of the skull which can be removed. I’ll operate early to-morrow morning. Keep him quiet to-night—and make him sleep, Lizzie, if you can.”