“The rest of your life? You talk as if you were ninety!” And Castleton slapped his fat little leg merrily. “Don’t you know what the man-at-arms says in Thackeray’s ballad?” Jacynth replied. “‘Wait till you come to forty year.’ Well, I have come to forty year, pretty nearly. I was thirty-nine three weeks ago--and do you know, Castleton, there are times when I’m tired of the whole business.” “By Jove! what would the judges say if they heard the famous Clitheroe Jacynth talking like this?” “My dear fellow, I’m not famous, and if I were, what’s the good of being famous at the price of becoming a fossil?” “Do you know,” said Castleton, with a grin, “I believe you must be mashed on somebody or other, by Jove, I do. If you talk----” Before Castleton had finished his sentence he became aware that Jacynth was not paying him much attention. In fact, Jacynth’s gaze seemed to be directed very intently toward the end of the garden, and Jacynth’s mind appeared to be giving no heed whatever to Castleton’s amiable garrulity. So Castleton, following the direction of his friend’s glance, saw in the distance a woman’s form, a form that was familiar to him, a form that he had already seen that day. “By Jove!” said Castleton to himself softly. He had no time to say more, even to himself, for Jacynth had jumped to his feet and was bidding him good-by. “Glad to have met you, hope to see you soon again.” These were the words Jacynth was saying, with a confusion curiously at variation with his habitual composure. He shook Castleton warmly by the hand, and moved away so rapidly that Castleton’s, “Why, my dear boy, of course you will; I shall stop here for ever so long,” was delivered to the empty air. “By Jove!” Castleton said again, this time aloud, as he watched Jacynth’s rapid advance in the direction of the girl. “By Jove, he’s struck, like all the lot. Poor devil! I’ll stay here and give him a hint presently. Oh, poor devil, poor devil!” And Castleton’s jolly face expressed as much honest commiseration as its ruddy plumpness permitted. In the meantime, Jacynth, walking rapidly, had met the girl. She smiled a welcome to him, and stopped as he stopped. Her face seemed troubled, he thought, in spite of its enchanting smile. “How grave you look,” he began, for want of anything better to say. “How grave you look,” she retorted, with a flash of the familiar enchanting audacity, as she looked up into his grave dark face. “I have something to say to you,” said Jacynth. The remark was commonplace enough, but he felt his voice fail as he said it, and he knew by the sudden heat in his face that the blood was filling his pale cheeks. The sound of his voice evidently impressed the girl, for she looked up at him with a sudden start, and her reply was queerly girlish and puzzled. “What is it?” Then, as if she felt suddenly conscious of a blunder, or of unexpected knowledge, she tried to add other words: