When Tommy, looking very much the worse for his relapse, came in the next day to report himself in robust health once more, Clementina acquainted him with her own bodily infirmities. It was absurd, she declared, that she should break down, but absurdity was the guiding principle of this comic planet. Holiday was ordained. She had spent a sleepless night thinking how she should make it. Dawn had brought solution of the problem. Why not make it in fantastic fashion, harmonising with the absurd scheme of things? “What are you going to do?” asked Tommy. “Spend a frolicsome month in Whitechapel, or put on male attire and go for a soldier?” “I shall hire an automobile and motor about France.” “It’s sporting enough,” said Tommy, judicially, “but I should hardly call it fantastic.” “Wait till you’ve heard the rest,” said Clementina. “I had originally intended to take Etta Concannon with me; but since you’ve come here looking like three-ha’porth of misery, I’ve decided to take you.” “Me?” cried Tommy. “My dear Clementina, that’s absurd.” “I thought you would agree with me,” said Clementina, “but I’m going to do it. Wouldn’t you like to come?” “I should think so!” he exclaimed, boyishly. “It would be gorgeous. But——” “But what?” “How can I afford to go motoring abroad?” “You wouldn’t have to afford it. You would be my guest.” “It’s delightful of you, Clementina, to think of it—but it’s impossible.” Whereupon an argument arose such as has often arisen between man and woman. “I’m old enough to be your grandmother, or at least you think so, which comes to the same thing,” said Clementina. Tommy’s young pride would not allow him to accept largesse from feminine hands, however elderly and unromantic. “If I had a country house and hosts of servants and several motor-cars and asked you to stay, you’d come without hesitation.” “That would be different. Don’t you see for yourself?” Clementina chose not to see for herself. Here was a dolorous baby of a boy disinherited by a lunatic uncle, emaciated by illness and unable to work, refusing a helping hand just because it was a woman’s. It was preposterous. Clementina grew angry. Tommy held firm. “It’s merely selfish of you. Don’t you see I want a companion?”