“If you won’t be sensible—­”

“I am.  It’s just because I’m so serious that I jest.  All the wittiest men are broken-hearted.  Go on.”

“Well, my dear Billy, you mustn’t be foolish.  I’m very fond of you, but you’re so ridiculously young.”

“You haven’t a revolver about you?” I enquired.

Daphne sighed.  “Billy, you’re quite hopeless.  Do let me try to explain.  You see, I can’t—­well—­flirt with you, because I don’t really flirt, of course, and besides your cousin’s different—­he’s married.”

I got up quickly.  “Good-bye,” I said.  “You must excuse my leaving you.”

Daphne looked surprised.  “Where are you going?” she enquired.

“To get married.”  I walked away with my head in the air.

* * * * *

A week later I wrote Daphne a letter.  It ran as follows:—­

“MY DEAR DAPHNE,—­I am going to get married.  Tina is nineteen, the same as you, and is in the chorus of a musical comedy.  She has real jet black hair, so I am quite lucky.  I hope you are fonder of me already.

Yours devotedly, BILLY.”

In reply, and by return of post, I received an invitation to tea at Daphne’s.  Daphne, looking beautiful, was awaiting me.

“How d’you do?” I said gravely.

“Billy,” Daphne began, “will you be really serious with me?”

I immediately assumed a business manner and coughed.

“Well?” I said.

The word was sharp and incisive, a regular lawyer’s question.

“Of course, you’re joking about this chorus girl?”

“Joking!  Daphne, you know I’d do anything for you.”

Daphne smiled.  “But, Billy, I shan’t like you any better if you marry her.”

I bit a piece of cake coldly.  “I don’t understand you, Daphne,” I said.  “When I ask you to show me a little affection, only just what you show others, you tell me I’m young and married men are different.  I arrange to be different at considerable personal sacrifice, and you tell me you won’t like me any better.”  I swallowed convulsively.

“But, Billy—­dear—­you’re not actually engaged?”

“I’m not so sure,” I replied.  “These girls are wonderfully sharp; and then, of course, I’m so young.” (A good touch.)

There was a silence.

“I shall hate you if you marry a chorus girl,” said Daphne.

“Then why did you tell me married men were different?”

“Because most of them are.”  Daphne smiled slowly.  “I think I might like you better if you were married to some really nice girl.”

I laughed bitterly.  “To you, for instance?”

“Yes, to me,” said Daphne very sweetly.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  IN VIEW OF THE EXAGGERATED AND MISLEADING REPORTS OF WHAT OCCURS AT THE CONVERSATIONS BETWEEN MR. ASQUITH AND MR. BONAR LAW ON THE ULSTER QUESTION WE VENTURE TO THINK THAT A LITTLE MAKE-UP AND CAREFUL CHOICE OF RENDEZVOUS WOULD ENABLE THE LEADERS TO HAVE MANY A LONG CHAT ON THE SUBJECT WITHOUT ANYONE BEING AWARE OF THEIR HAVING MET.]