He paused a little wistfully, as though he expected Paul to say something to explain his long absence; but the latter only smiled slightly, and walked across to his cupboard in the corner. "I'm going to have some tea," he observed, "but I don't expect you to join me in that, Heaton. There's some vermuth here, Italian vermuth; or, of course, you can have whiskey if you prefer it." "Thanks, my boy," laughed the other. "I'm glad to see that five months in the infernal regions haven't spoilt your memory. Claret for boys, brandy for heroes, eh?" He helped himself to whiskey, and then leaned back in his chair to survey Paul, who was making a cigarette while the water boiled. There was one of the long silences that were inevitable with Paul, unless his companion took the initiative; and for the next five minutes the only sounds to be heard were the singing of the kettle, the rise and fall of footsteps in the court below, and the occasional rattle of the window sash as the wind wrestled with it. Paul made the tea, and brought his cup to the table, and flung himself at full length on the sofa beside it. "Well," he said at last, "haven't you any news to tell me? Who is the last charming lady you have been trotting round to all the picture galleries,--the one who is more beautiful, and more intellectual, and more sympathetic than any woman you have ever met?" Heaton laughed consciously. "Now, it's odd you should happen to say that," he said in his simple manner. "Of course I know it's only your chaff, confound you, but there _is_ just a smattering of truth in it. By Jove, Wilton, you must come and meet her; you never saw such a figure, and she's the wittiest creature I ever ran across! I'm nowhere, when it comes to talk; but she's so kind to me, Wilton,--you can't think; I never met such a sympathetic woman. Really, she has the most extraordinary effect upon me; I haven't been so influenced by any woman since poor little May died, 'pon my word I haven't. I can't think how it's all going to end, I tell you I can't. It's giving me a lot of worry, I know." "Ah," said Paul gravely. "Widow?" "Her husband was a brute," said Heaton energetically. "Colonel in the army, drank, used her villainously I expect, though she doesn't say much; she's awfully staunch to the chap. Women are, you know; I can't think why, when we treat them so badly. That's where they get their hold over us, I suppose. But her influence over me is wonderful. I wouldn't do anything to lose her respect, for the world." He blinked his eyes, and drank some more whiskey. Perhaps it occurred to him that his companion was even less responsive than usual, for there was more vigour and less sentiment in his tone when he resumed the conversation.