"She is the loveliest woman I know," said Teddy Duncombe, with all sincerity. "Faith!" laughed the Irishman. "But that's heartfelt! Why don't you enter for the prize yourself?" "I'm going to marry little Lucy Fabian as soon as she will have me," explained Duncombe. "We settled that ages ago, almost as soon as she came out. It's not a formal engagement even yet, but she has promised to bear it in mind. We had a talk last night, and--I believe I haven't much longer to wait." "Good luck to you, dear fellow!" said Hone. "You deserve the best." He laid his hand for a moment on Duncombe's shoulder. "It's been a good partnership, Teddy boy," he said. "I shall miss you." Teddy gripped the hand hard. "You'll have to get married yourself, Pat," he declared urgently. "It isn't good for man to live alone." "And so you are going to provide for my future also," laughed Hone. "And the lady's name?" "Oh, she's an old friend!" said Duncombe. "Can't you guess?" Hone shook his head. "I can't imagine any old friend taking pity on me. Have you sounded her feelings on the subject? Or perhaps she hasn't got any where I am concerned." "Oh, yes, she has her feelings about you!" said Duncombe, with confidence. "But I don't know what they are. She wasn't particularly communicative on that point." "Or you, my son, were not particularly penetrating," suggested Hone. "I certainly didn't penetrate far," Duncombe confessed. "It was a case of 'No admission to outsiders.' Still, I kept my eyes open on your behalf; and the conclusion I arrived at was that, though reticent where you were concerned, she was by no means indifferent." Hone stooped and picked up his dumb-bells once more. "Your conclusions are not always very convincing, Teddy," he remarked. Duncombe got to his feet in leisurely preparation for departure. "There was no mistake as to her reticence anyhow," he observed. "It was the more conspicuous, as all the rest of us were yelling ourselves hoarse in your honour. I was watching her, and she never moved her lips, never even smiled. But her eyes saw no one else but you." Hone grunted a little. He was poising the dumb-bells at the full stretch of his arms. Duncombe still loitered at the open window. "And her name is Nina Perceval," he said abruptly, shooting out the words as though not quite certain of their reception. The dumb-bells crashed to the ground. Hone wheeled round. For a single instant the Irish eyes flamed fiercely; but the next he had himself in hand. "A pretty little plan, by the powers!" he said, forcing himself to speak lightly. "But it won't work, my lad. I'm deeply grateful all the same." "Rats, man! She is sure to marry again." Duncombe spoke with deliberate carelessness. He would not seem to be aware of that which his friend had suppressed.