Darkness was closing in, but Mrs. West protested that it would be far more pleasant to sit, chat and drink tea by the firelight than to have the lamp brought in. “What a quaint quartette we are!” said West. “I, sedate and elderly; Alice, sedate and quite young; Agatha, the child; and Fred—well, all cynics are old.” “_Are_ you a cynic?” asked Mrs. West, handing him his cup. “What do you mean by a cynic?” “I always think cynics are—disagreeable and——” “_And_ you ask me if I am one!” “Had you then, Aggie!” laughed her husband. “I don’t care a bit. Mr. Mortimer knows I didn’t mean anything nasty. I’m always saying shocking things, and no one minds a bit.” “Any more than when a kitten scratches,” said West. “A kitten’s scratches hurt, and mine don’t. It’s mean of you to sit the other side of Alice, so that I can’t pull your hair. We have her here, Mr. Mortimer, to keep us good, and to make her better.” “Aggie trying to make epigrams! What next! Heaven defend the poor man whose wife makes epigrams.” Quite mistakenly, Mortimer counted himself an onlooker at life, delighting to sound the characters of his friends and when possible, to understand their doings. This night, as he lay awake, his thoughts dwelt upon the company of three with whom he had passed the evening. He had known Philip West for years, and considered him a strong, determined, pushing man. From small beginnings inherited from an uncle he had built up vast Stores known over London, indeed all the world over, thanks to skillful and persistent advertising. He was a man of considerable culture and refinement, one who, so Mortimer believed, would look for much in his wife, for much more, at any rate, than he would obtain from any pretty, overgrown schoolgirl. Agatha certainly was beautiful and her baby ways charming, but were they not likely soon to pall upon such a man as West? There was a further point: was she not simply a fair-weather mate? Would he not find her hopelessly wanting in any time of stress and storm? Could she shake herself free from her love of dress, luxury and excitement? Mortimer felt sorry for her; she was lovable, but helpless. To see her suffer would be as bad as to watch the pain of a pretty pet animal.