'Please don't trouble,' said Ruth, in the haughty manner which had frequently withered unfortunate fellow-exiles in their tracks. It had no such effect on Mr Vince. 'I shall like it,' he said. Ruth set her teeth. She would see whether he would like it. They left Mr Warden, who shot in at the casino door like a homing rabbit, and walked on in silence, which lasted till Ruth, suddenly becoming aware that her companion's eyes were fixed on her face, turned her head, to meet a gaze of complete, not to say loving, admiration. She flushed. She was accustomed to being looked at admiringly, but about this particular look there was a subtle quality that distinguished it from the ordinary--something proprietorial. Mr Vince appeared to be a young man who wasted no time on conventional conversation-openings. 'Do you believe in affinities, Miss Warden?' he said, 'No,' said Ruth. 'You will before we've done,' said Mr Vince, confidently. 'Why did you try to snub me just now?' 'Did I?' 'You mustn't again. It hurts me. I'm a sensitive man. Diffident. Shy. Miss Warden, will you marry me?' Ruth had determined that nothing should shake her from her icy detachment, but this did. She stopped with a gasp, and stared at him. Mr Vince reassured her. 'I don't expect you to say "Yes". That was just a beginning--the shot fired across the bows by way of warning. In you, Miss Warden, I have found my affinity. Have you ever considered this matter of affinities? Affinities are the--the--Wait a moment.' He paused, reflecting. 'I--' began Ruth. ''Sh!' said the young man, holding up his hand. Ruth's eyes flashed. She was not used to having ''Sh!' said to her by young men, and she resented it. 'I've got it,' he declared, with relief. 'I knew I should, but these good things take time. Affinities are the zero on the roulette-board of life. Just as we select a number on which to stake our money, so do we select a type of girl whom we think we should like to marry. And just as zero pops up instead of the number, so does our affinity come along and upset all our pre-conceived notions of the type of girl we should like to marry.' 'I--' began Ruth again. 'The analogy is in the rough at present. I haven't had time to condense and polish it. But you see the idea. Take my case, for instance. When I saw you a couple of days ago I knew in an instant that you were my affinity. But for years I had been looking for a woman almost your exact opposite. You are dark. Three days ago I couldn't have imagined myself marrying anyone who was not fair. Your eyes are grey. Three days ago my preference for blue eyes was a by-word. You have a shocking temper. Three days ago--' 'Mr Vince!' 'There!' said that philosopher, complacently. 'You stamped. The gentle, blue-eyed blonde whom I was looking for three days ago would have drooped timidly. Three days ago my passion for timid droopers amounted to an obsession.'