"I never give advice," I interrupted hastily. "I'm not clever enough." "I never said you were," she retorted. "But you are slow and sure." "Thanks, Lady Mabel." "I think you're just horrid, and why you should be so stiff with me I don't know, seeing that you knew Cannington and myself since we could toddle." "Oh, come now, I'm not so old as all that." "You are, and ever so much older, you--you bachelor." "I can't help that, since you refuse to marry me," I said smiling. "You've never asked me to--not that I would accept you," she replied promptly. "All the same, you needn't call me Lady Mabel, as if you were keeping me off with a pitchfork." "Well, then--Mabel." "That's better." She gave me a friendly pat on the shoulder. "You know that I look on you as a good sort, Cyrus, and the oldest friend we have." I wriggled. "Why do you emphasise age so much?" Cannington laughed, and I knew that he was thinking of my admiration of Miss Monk's photograph. "Vance doesn't like to be reminded of his age--now." "Why now?" questioned Lady Mabel suspiciously. "Oh, never mind," I said crossly. "What do you want my advice about?" Our fair companion put down her cup in despair. "Haven't I been telling you for the last half hour. Mr. Marr wants to marry me. He asked me four days ago, and then came down to enlist Cannington on his side." "Huh," said the boy, sagaciously, "that sounds as though you had refused him." "No, I didn't." "Then you accepted him." "No, I didn't," she said again. "I left it an open question, until I consulted you and Cyrus. After all he is rich, and not bad-looking." "Oh, Mabel," cried Cannington, rising to perambulate the narrow room, "you know very well that you love Dickey Weston." "What's the use of loving a man who won't speak his mind? Dickey always lives in the moon, and I only love him from habit. "You never loved me from habit," I remarked lazily. Mabel put her head on one side, and surveyed me critically. "No, I never did," she said candidly, "and yet you're better-looking than Dickey. But he's got a way with him--I don't know what it is." "Absent-mindedness," suggested Cannington. "May we smoke, Mab?" "Oh, yes, and you can give me a cigarette also, if they're Egyptian. Thanks awfully." She accepted one, and I struck a match for the lighting. "Of course, Dickey Weston is absent-minded and selfish," she continued frankly. "All the same, I love him and I don't mind anyone knowing it." "Every one does, except Dickey," said I with a shrug. "I suppose you think that's clever." "It's the truth. After all, I don't see why you need be shy with a man you have known for centuries. Why not go to Dickey and tell him that you want to marry him and go trips in his airship?"