“Well,” said George, very thoughtfully, with his eyes somewhere on the table, “as you ask me, I must say that your behaviour throughout seems to me to have been irreproachable, and I respect you enormously for it. I can’t say fairer than that. But,” and he looked across at Mr. Fall; and he smiled at him a grave smile, “neither can I for the life of me see how you can break away from the position you are in. It seems beastly--but, since you’ve asked my advice, I can only suggest that you must just wait. You can’t, as you have said, shatter the illusion--you can’t, as a man of honour. A cad, of course, would long ago have stepped into the breach and away with the body--I mean, booty. Your brandy is marvellous, Mr. Fall. But, as I was saying, I can’t for the life of me see that you can do anything but just wait and look sulky whenever you get the chance....” “You will forgive my boring you?” Mr. Fall put to us sincerely. “It would be too cold-blooded of us to say we have been entertained,” I began---- “But,” said Tarlyon, “we have certainly not been bored. And I only wish we could have been of some use----” “I just wanted cor-rob-or-ation,” Mr. Fall murmured softly, sadly. “Have some brandy.” IV It was past one o’clock when George Tarlyon and I set foot again in Grosvenor Square; we walked up South Audley Street, and I stopped at my door. “Good-night, George,” I said. But Tarlyon held my arm. “You are coming home with me,” says he. “Nonsense!” said I; and though I was friendly, I was firm. “There was once a woman in a play by Shaw who amazed five continents by the magic words, ‘Not bloody likely.’ At this moment I am that woman, and it is thus that I refuse your solicitations. I have drunk brandy, and I would sleep. Good-night, George Almeric St. George.” But he is a very tall man, and he dragged me by the arm down South Audley Street, the while crying mighty cries after the manner of one who wants a taxi immediately; and into one he threw me, and the taxi hurled itself towards Belgrave Square, where George Tarlyon lives in a house which, together with much money, was left to him by his wife, who died before she could make a will. I was very angry, and insisted that he should make a note of it. “There, there,” he soothed me. “All I want you to do, Ralph, is to leer in the offing while I ring up a lady. I do so hate to do that kind of thing alone.” I pointed out that she couldn’t be much of a lady if he could ring her up at that unearthly hour; he warned me to leave his friends alone; I said I wouldn’t touch them at the end of a barge-pole, and then I composed myself to sleep. The taxi hurled itself across Hyde Park Corner, and dreamily I heard Tarlyon’s voice: “I am not only going to telephone a lady, but I am going to insult a lady intolerably. And in case my invention should run low, I want you, Ralph, to stand by and suggest some more intolerable insults....” And dreamily I heard Tarlyon’s voice: