“That woman,” he explained, “is a very clever woman. She has the kind of brains that don’t generally go with beauty; and if I had any political ambitions, or any indoor ambitions of any kind, I would marry her like a shot. She has been thinking this last year that I might marry her, but I’ve just managed to keep the conversation off that. For, though one doesn’t deserve an angel, one needn’t marry a devil. Meanwhile, however, I’ve grown fond of her, and I’ve taken no trouble to hide from her that I admire her enormously; and so she has kept me dangling for a year, doing neither one thing or the other--indeed, why should she?--on the off-chance that I might marry her; for though Viscounts are not what they were, Ralph, a wealthy Viscount was to her mind just preferable to a wealthy Canadian of a certain age. And so she has kept poor old Cyrus Fall, who adores her, as I’ve known for the last ten months or so, hanging on as her second string, palming off that ghastly lie on him about a husband she never cared a damn about--she’s just kept him hanging on, while she waited to see whether I’d toe the line or not; and if not.... But I’m rather sorry about it all, Ralph, for she is a clever and amusing woman, and I shall miss begging her to put off Mr. Fall to dine with me.” “Poor old Cyrus Fall!” I murmured. “But then--why poor? He adores the woman--no matter how cunning she is, he adores her. And so on....” “Exactly,” said Tarlyon. “There are men, Ralph, who would warn Mr. Fall against that woman, whereas we are throwing her into his arms. For we, Ralph, know that no matter how thoroughly he finds her out, as he surely will, he will not cease to adore her; for it is not virtue that men and women love in each other----” “Quite,” said I, “Good-night.” V A week later, there was announced in the _Morning Post_, which somehow always seems to know about these things, the engagement of Mr. Cyrus Fall to Mrs. Leycester-Craven, widow of Major Leycester-Craven of the ----. The same morning Mr. Fall rang up Lord Tarlyon. “Pleased if you’d take luncheon with me to-day,” said Mr. Fall. “Sorry,” said Tarlyon. “Already luncheoning.” “Cocktail?” “Well, why not?” “Ritz, one o’clock?” “Right,” said Tarlyon. * * * * * Tarlyon grasped the outstretched hand, and wrung it. “Congratulations,” he murmured. “Thank _you_,” said Mr. Fall. Tarlyon raised his eyebrows. “But is the man mad?” he asked. “What on earth for?” “For your advice to the lady, Lord Tarlyon,” said Mr. Fall gently. Tarlyon jumped in his chair, and he stared at Cyrus Fall. “You don’t mean to tell me that she told you!” he gasped.