“Oo, what a long way to go for a minute!” sighed Venice. “When one can always telephone....” And she rose from her chair. Somehow an immense new dignity had suddenly come on Venice. Napier rose, facing her, smiling under his scowl, as though she had made a joke. I rose, saying that I must be going. “As a matter of fact,” said Venice brightly, “as I knew you were so worried about her I rang up that place this morning, and they told me she was _assez bien_, if you see what I mean....” “Venice, that was kind!” Napier smiled with his whole thin, fine face, and I thought how glad I was that he didn’t know what had caused Iris’s illness, for would he then have smiled gratefully at Venice for inquiring after her? And he said, as though happy in her understanding: “I mean, we can start off first thing in the morning, can’t we? What? It’s rotten luck, cutting in on your holiday like this, but--well, friendship has duties....” “But of course I understand, Naps!” And Venice turned at me, smiling as though to show me what sort of a man that Napier was. As though she didn’t understand! As though she didn’t know the duties of friendship! She said to Napier, with a fine air of business settled: “Well, I’ll just go upstairs now and tell Mary to unpack some things again. And I do so hope, Naps,” she said with a fine large smile, “that your friend won’t die, for then how will I manage a man who has nothing left to live for?” And Venice turned to me, and her hand was in mine, and we were saying good-bye, when Napier said briskly: “Come on, then. We’ll go now. Might as well, now the car’s there....” “But, Naps!” Venice turned on him, stared wide at him.... “Oh, come on,” said Napier, as though eaten by impatience. “But!” she pleaded desperately. “But, Naps, I don’t really want to go now a bit if you would rather stay until to-morrow....” “I don’t want to stay,” said Napier, quite reasonably, but he turned away as he spoke. One saw the set white profile. “Come along, Venice. There’s been enough talk about this already....” “But, Naps,” said Venice bitterly, “it’s wrong of you to go now, if she needs you. You know it’s wrong and naughty, what you’re doing. Naps dear, I’d very much rather not go now if you don’t mind----” “Well, you’ll jolly well have to go now, if at all,” Napier tore at her so sharply that she stared at him dumbly for a full second, and then she made a white smile, half to him, half to me. “Silly baby,” she said. “Such a silly baby....” And she was again about to say good-bye to the unwilling spectator when Napier broke in, to me, beginning with astonishing grimness and ending quite conversationally: “I say, if you should happen to see Iris in the course of the next few days, you might tell her I couldn’t stop, and”--here the grimness suddenly ended--“say good-bye from me. Will you? What?”