A humorous twinkle came into Huckaby’s eye, and a smile played round his lips beneath the straggling brushwood of hair. “I have a great idea,” he said. “What is it?” “Break a woman’s heart,” said Huckaby. Quixtus reflected gravely. It would indeed be a charming, enticing piece of wickedness. “I shouldn’t have to marry her?” he asked in some concern. “Heaven forbid.” “I like it,” said Quixtus, leaning back in his chair and smoothing his scrappy moustache with his lean fingers. “I like it very much. The only difficulty is: where can I find the woman whose heart I can break?” “Take a tour abroad,” said Huckaby. “On the Continent of Europe there are thousands of English women only waiting to have their hearts broken.” “That may be true,” said Quixtus; “but how shall I obtain the necessary introductions?” “I,” cried Huckaby raising a bony hand that protruded through a very frayed and dirty shirt-cuff. “I, Eustace Huckaby, will reassume my air of academical distinction and will accompany you into the _pays du tendre_ and introduce you to any woman you like. In other words, my dear Quixtus, although I may not look like a Lothario at the present moment, I have had considerable experience in amatory adventures—and I’m sure you would find my assistance valuable.” Quixtus reflected again. Aware of his limitations he recognised the futility of going alone on a heart-breaking expedition among strange even though expectant females. But would Huckaby be an ideal companion? Huckaby was self-assertive, not to say impudent, in manner; and Huckaby had certain shocking habits. On the other hand, perhaps the impudence was the very quality needed in the quest; and as for the habits—He decided. “Very well. I accept your proposal—on one condition. What that is you doubtless can guess.” “I can,” said Huckaby. “I give you my word of honour that you will never see me otherwise than sober.” An undertaking which would not preclude him from taking a bottle of whisky to bed whenever he felt so inclined. “We had better start at once,” said Huckaby, after some necessary discussion of the question of wardrobe. “I must wait,” replied Quixtus, “until I’ve attended some race-meetings with Billiter.” Huckaby frowned. He was not aware that to Billiter had already been assigned a sphere of action. “I don’t want to say anything unfriendly. But if I were you I shouldn’t trust Billiter too implicitly. He’s a—” he paused—being sober and serious he rejected the scarlet epithet which, when used in allusion to his friends, had given colour to his gayer speech—“He’s a man who knows too much of the game.” “My dear Huckaby,” said Quixtus. “I shall never trust another human being as long as I live.”