Iglesias' figure stiffened a little; but it was impossible to be annoyed with her. To begin with, she was too unreal, too unsubstantial a being. And, to go on with, invincible good-temper is so very disarming. "Who am I? Nobody," he answered gravely. "Bless us, here's a find!" Poppy cried, apparently addressing the little dogs. "Hasn't he so much of a name even as Willie Onions? Where's it gone to? It must be nearly as awkward for him as it was for the man who had no shadow. Come, though," she added in tones of remonstrance, "you must play fair. Cards on the table and no humbugging. To put it another way, what do you do?" "Since yesterday, nothing," he answered. The young lady regarded him with increasing interest. "But, my gentle lunatic," she said, "you didn't exactly begin your acquaintance with this planetary sphere yesterday--couldn't, you know, though you are very beautiful to look at. So, if you don't very particularly much mind, we'll hark back to before yesterday." Dominic Iglesias' gravity gave way slightly. He smiled in spite of his natural pride and reticence. "For over thirty-five years I was a clerk in a city bank." "Pshaw!" Poppy cried hotly. "And pray what variety of congenital idiot do you take me for? If you are going to decline upon fiction, please let it be of a higher order than that. I tell you it's unworthy of you!" She pursed up her lips and moved her head slowly from side to side in high disgust. "Don't be childish," she said. "Don't be transparently silly. If you want to gas, do put a little more intelligence into it. You--you--out of sight the most distinguished-looking man I've ever met except Lord--well, we won't name names, it sounds showy--you a clerk in a city bank! There, excuse me, but simply--" Poppy snapped her fingers like a pair of castanets, making the little dogs start and whimper. "Fiddle!" she cried; "tell it to a bed-ridden spinster in a blind asylum!--Fiddle-de-dee!" And for the life of him Dominic Iglesias could not help laughing. It was a new sensation. It occurred to him that he had not laughed for years--hardly since the days of poor Pascal Pelletier and the little garden in Holland Street, Kensington. Poppy watched him, her eyes dancing. Her expression was very charming, wholly unselfconscious, in a way maternal, just then. But Iglesias was hardly sensible of it. "That's good," she said. "Now you'll feel a lot better. I saw there was something wrong with you from the start which needed breaking up. Now, suppose you quit inadequate inventions and just tell the truth." "Unfortunately, I have done so already," Mr. Iglesias said. The lady paused a moment, her face full of inquiry and doubt. "Honest injun?" The term was not familiar to her hearer, but he judged it to be of the nature of an asseveration, and assented. "And do you mean to tell me that for all those years you went through that drudgery every day?"