"I don't care if it's a barn!" The breeze had brought a bright colour into her cheeks, as they paced along, arm in arm, and she laughed aloud. "I don't care about anything! I'm just too glad to be alive. I'm awfully strong--I can learn to cook..." McTaggart hugged himself for joy. "Oh, I hope it won't come to that. Mario might object." Jill stopped suddenly, overwhelmed by a new thought. "I say, Peter--what is he? Exactly, I mean. Is he ... your valet?" "Yes--you know--over there---wages are a mere trifle. And he's handy, in all sorts of ways." "I see. Would he clean the windows?" "Knives and boots?..." McTaggart choked. "I dare say--if you asked him." "Hm...." Jill looked a little doubtful. The fur coat had made her think. She mustn't let Peter ruin himself--even on their honeymoon. In her practical mind she decided to say nothing more till they reached Siena and then take up the reins of the house, with a careful eye on the exchequer. But all these thoughts were swept aside by the novelty of her arrival on the French coast, the foreign tongue, the stir and bustle of the Customs. Then came dinner in the train, with strange wine, strange dishes, and their "doll's house" quarters for the night. She revelled in the unexpected. Slowly the dark swept down, blotting out the sleeping earth, as they rocked along, happily tired, in the warm coup, side by side. "Time for bed..." said McTaggart at last. "I'm not going to let you chatter all through the night, old lady. It's close upon eleven o'clock!" "I'm not sleepy a bit," said Jill. Something in her quick glance roused McTaggart's chivalry--a childish touch of helplessness. "Look here..." he leaned closer and whispered softly in her ear. For a moment Jill clung to him, her face hidden from his eyes. "You've got a long journey before you," he went on in a careless voice. "So just turn in and get to sleep. I'm going outside for a last smoke. Pull that shade over the lamp when you're ready. I shan't want the light. I'll be as quiet as a mouse. We'll say good night--here--_now_." "Peter ... you _are_ a darling!" The whisper barely reached his ears. He held her closely for a moment--kissed her quickly and stood up. "Happy dreams! And take your time. I shan't turn in for another hour." He opened the door and went out, his face rather white and set. "Another test..." he said to himself. "Hang it all! She's such a child! It's the straight game." And at the words he thought instinctively of Bethune. "I'm glad I've had it out with him." For the two men had parted friends. Perhaps, in the long years ahead, Jill would no longer stand between them. McTaggart hoped so fervently. He paced up and down the corridor; steady action that soothed his nerves, smoking, with an absent mind, cigarette after cigarette.