'She'd have done it before if it had been going to be Miles Childwick.' 'She'll meet some devilish fascinating chap some day, I know she will.' 'He'll ill-use her perhaps,' Airey suggested hopefully. 'Then I shall nip in, you mean? Have you been treating yourself to Drury Lane?' Airey laughed openly, and presently Tommy himself joined in, though in a rather rueful fashion. 'Why the deuce can't we just like 'em?' he asked. 'That would be all right on the pessimistic theory of the world.' 'Oh, hang the world! Well, good-bye, old chap. I'm glad you approve of what I've done about the business.' His reference to the business seemed to renew Airey Newton's discomfort. He looked at his friend, and after a long pause said solemnly: 'Tommy Trent!' 'Yes, Airey Newton!' 'Would you mind telling me--man to man--how you contrive to be my friend?' 'What?' 'You're the only man who knows--and you're my only real friend.' 'I regard it as just like drinking,' Tommy explained, after a minute's thought. 'You're the deuce of a good fellow in every other way. I hope you'll be cured some day too. I may live to see you bankrupt yet.' 'I work for it. I work hard and usefully.' 'And even brilliantly,' added Tommy. 'It's mine. I haven't robbed anybody. And nobody has any claim on me.' 'I didn't introduce this discussion.' Tommy was evidently pained. He held out his hand to take leave. 'It's an extraordinary thing, but there it is,' mused Airey. He took Tommy's hand and said, 'On my honour I'll ask her to dinner.' 'Where?' inquired Tommy, in a suspicious tone. Airey hesitated. 'Magnifique?' said Tommy firmly and relentlessly. 'Yes, the--the Magnifique,' agreed Airey, after another pause. 'Delighted, old man!' He waited a moment longer, but Airey Newton did not fix a date. Airey was left sorrowful, for he loved Tommy Trent. Though Tommy knew his secret, still he loved him--a fact that may go to the credit of both men. Many a man in Airey's place would have hated Tommy, even while he used and relied on him; for Tommy's knowledge put Airey to shame--a shame he could not stifle any more than he could master the thing that gave it birth. Certainly Tommy deserved not to be hated, for he was very loyal. He showed that only two days later, and at a cost to himself. He was dining with Peggy Ryle--not she with him; for a cheque had arrived, and they celebrated its coming. Tommy, in noble spirits (the coming of a cheque was as great an event to him as to Peggy herself), told her how he had elicited the offer of a dinner from Airey Newton; he chuckled in pride over it. How men misjudge things! Peggy sat up straight in her chair and flushed up to the outward curve of her hair. 'How dare you?' she cried. 'As if he hadn't done enough for me already! I must have eaten pounds of butter--of mere butter alone! You know he can't afford to give dinners.' Besides anger, there was a hint of pride in her emphasis on 'dinners.'