Aunt Aggie had left her dear niece Gwendolen two hundred and fifty pounds. Not a vast sum by any means, but quite a nice little windfall. Gwendolen, in that dashing mood that only women know, decided immediately to spend it—part of it on the house and the rest on a treat for Gerald. And the lawyer’s letter happening to come at tea-time together with a copy of the _Sphere_ full of the most fascinating, thrilling photographs of holiday-makers at Mürren and St. Moritz and Montana, the question of the treat was settled. “You would like to go to Switzerland, wouldn’t you, Gerald?” “Very much.” “You’re—awfully good at skating and all that kind of thing—aren’t you?” “Fairly.” “You do feel it’s a thing to be done—don’t you?” “How do you mean?” But Gwendolen only laughed. That was so like Gerald. She knew, in his heart of hearts he was every bit as keen as she was. But he had this horror of showing his feelings like all men. Gwendolen understood it perfectly and wouldn’t have had him different for the world.... “I’ll write to Cook’s at once and tell them we don’t want to go to a very fashionable place, and we don’t want one of those big jazzy hotels! I’d much prefer a really small out-of-the-way place where we could really go in for the sports seriously.” This was quite untrue, but, like so many of Gwendolen’s statements, it was made to please Gerald. “Don’t you agree?” Gerald lit his pipe for reply. As you have gathered, the Christian names of Mr. and Mrs. Williams were Gwendolen and Gerald. How well they went together! They sounded married. Gwendolen-Gerald. Gwendolen wrote them, bracketed, on bits of blotting paper, on the backs of old envelopes, on the Stores’ catalogue. They looked married. Gerald, when they were on their honeymoon, had made an awfully good joke about them. He had said one morning, “I say, has it ever struck you that both our names begin with _G_? Gwendolen-Gerald. You’re a _G_,” and he had pointed his razor at her—he was shaving—“and I’m a _G_. Two _Gs_. Gee-Gee. See?” Oh, Gwendolen saw immediately. It was really most witty. Quite brilliant! And so—sweet and unexpected of him to have thought of it. Gee-Gee. Oh, _very_ good! She wished she could have told it to people. She had an idea that some people thought Gerald had not a very strong sense of humour. All the more precious for that reason, however. “My dear, did you think of it at this moment? I mean—did you just make it up on the spot?” Gerald, rubbing the lather with a finger, nodded. “Flashed into my mind while I was soaping my face,” he said seriously. “It’s a queer thing,”—and he dipped the razor into the pot of hot water—“I’ve noticed it before. Shaving gives me ideas.” It did, indeed, thought Gwendolen.... WEAK HEART