"She's the sweetest, dearest soul on God's earth," he said in a tone of conviction. "But you know, Hughie old man, she doesn't understand--I say emphatically, she doesn't understand--you know what I mean. She is early Victorian. As to your suggestion, I appreciate it very much, but emphatically, no." He added, with a whimsical smile: "Yours is a loan, I should have to pay back; Heaven knows when I could do so. The dear old aunt, well, it is a gift, no question of paying back. I haven't thought it all out yet, but in the early cool of to-morrow morning, I shall write her a beautiful and touching letter. I know by experience it will bring a cheque." "You're an artful young devil, I know," said Murchison. Straight as a die himself, he was not too appreciative of his friend's diplomatic methods. On the other hand, was he justified in criticising? He had a magnificent allowance from his opulent father. Poor Jack, with a somewhat puritanical and niggardly aunt at his back, had just to worry along, and live in this expensive regiment from hand to mouth. There was no more to be said on this subject. "Well, Jack, are you in a mood to listen to my news?" Pomfret leaned forward, and flicked the ash oft his cigar. "Yes, I think I am. Begone dull care! I shall write that letter the first thing to-morrow morning." "Well, I have made the acquaintance of that pretty Burton girl, whom nobody in Blankfield visits." Mr. Pomfret emitted a little chuckling sound. "Lucky devil. How did you do it? I thought she was unapproachable. She walks down the High Street, 'with a haughty stare, and her nose in the air,' and looks neither to left nor right. How did you manage it, old man?" Hugh laughed. "Oh, as easy as anything. Just dropped in to Winkley's, expecting to see a lot of you fellows with your best girls. Not a soul there I knew. Room full--every table full, save for one at which Miss Burton was sitting alone--sat at the one table, _vis-à-vis_ with Miss Burton. There it is in a nutshell." Mr. Pomfret grinned broadly. "Oh, Hughie, what I would have given for your chance. You know I am awfully gone on that girl, she is so sweet and dainty, far and away the prettiest girl in Blankfield. What did you make of your chance?" "As much as could be made in five or ten minutes. She told me a lot about things, her disappointment in finding that the Blankfield people would not call upon her, and that, excepting her brother, she had not a soul to speak to." "Poor little soul!" said Mr. Pomfret, in a voice of the deepest sympathy. "Poor little soul!" he repeated. "Well, we talked for some little time, some ten minutes perhaps, I don't think it could have been much longer. And then--then--you will never believe it, Jack--she asked me to call, and be introduced to her brother."