“Oh, oh!” cried Shirley. “How awful men are! And how d’you know what I’ll say, Hugo? You are a clever chap, aren’t you? Are you a psycho-analyst, Hugo? Can you tell what is passing in a woman’s mind by looking at her instep? And for heaven’s sake don’t go on standing in that doorway looking like a draught!” “Sorry, Shirley.” And Hugo faded away round the angle of the door and was closing it behind him. “Hugo, how dare you go like that!” And that was the most frantic cry of all; and Hugo’s face reappeared round the angle of the door, and it was a rather bewildered face. “Well, damn it, my dear, I must go somehow!” “Yes, but you know very well you can’t live without me--don’t you, Hugo? Now answer truthfully, Hugo.” “Well, you know, since you came in this morning, I’ve been thinking it over----” “But how awful you are to admit that you can think of anything when you’re with Shirley!” “There you go!” he cried harshly. “Making a fool of me!” “But, my darling, I must make someth----” “What was that you said?” he snapped. “Have you gone mad? Didn’t you hear me?” “Child, did you or did you not call me ‘darling’?” “Why, so I did!--I’m so sorry, Hugo....” Hugo Cypress advanced across the room and towered above Shirley St. George. “Are you playing the fool, Shirley?” “I am playing for time, my darling--lunch-time. Luncheon-time, I mean.” She giggled. Now Shirley was not given to giggling.... No one had ever seen Shirley carrying an umbrella, and no one had ever heard Shirley giggling. “Ho!” muttered Major Cypress. “Don’t gargle in my aunt’s drawing-room, Hugo!” “I’m thinking, Shirley.” “Don’t think!” she cried sharply. “Well,” he began, and stopped. “Wipe your forehead, dear; you’re rather hot.” Hugo wiped his forehead. “Look here, Shirley, supposing--just supposing--that I so far forget myself as to prop----” “Oh, Hugo!” And she clapped her hands--little Shirley! “You must! For the sixth and last time ... just to make it even numbers!” Hugo’s face was as white as his gardenia. “For the sixth and last time, Shirley, will you marry me?” As she stood, with the palms of her hands pressed down on the table and her little face thrown back, she was like a dove, still and absorbed. She was absorbed in something that was Hugo, yet in something that was much more than Hugo. And then her lips trembled a little; they whispered: “Oh, Hugo, I have been such a beast! But you are so sweet that I simply couldn’t help it!” He didn’t understand. But he understood when suddenly she crooked an arm around his neck and brought his face down to hers, and he saw that her eyes were wet.... “My God!” he said, and kissed her bravely. “Of course,” she whispered. “Of course....” “No, not like that,” she whispered. “Not as though I were your sister. I beg you to observe that I am not your sister. Yes, properly, dear. Oh, I do like you frightfully, Hugo....” Then quite a lot of things happened at the same time; and then he cried: