“Nobody could need it more than I do,” he answered, suddenly clasping her to him.

“It’s the way it’s going to be, anyhow,” she murmured.

“I can’t let you go,” he said, as if arguing with an unseen auditor.

She nodded in a somewhat contracted space.  “That’s it,” she announced.  “It has to be.”

It was only a few days later that Nancy Almar, driving past a well-known house-furnishing shop on her way home to tea, was surprised to observe her brother standing, with a salesman at his elbow, in trancelike contemplation of a small white enameled ice-box.  With her customary decision, Nancy ordered her chauffeur to stop, and entering the shop by another door she stood close beside Hickson during his purchase of the following articles:  the ice-box, an improved coffee percolator and a complete set of kitchen china of an extremely decorative pattern.

“Bless me, Ned,” she said suddenly in his ear, “might one ask when you are going to housekeeping, and with whom?”

There was no denying that Ned’s start was guilty, and his manner confused as he answered, “Oh, they’re not for me—­”

The salesman who, perhaps, lacked tact, or possibly only wanted to get away to wait on another customer, said at this point: 

“And the address, sir?  I have the name—­Mrs. Max Riatt.”

“Riatt married!” cried Nancy.  “But to whom?  I thought he had nothing left in the world.”

“He hasn’t,” answered Ned, hastily scribbling the address on a card and handing it to the man.

“Oh, then he’s married some one who loves him for himself alone, I know.  That faithful sleek-headed girl from his home town.  Won’t Christine be angry when she hears it!  She always likes her old loves to pine a long time before they console themselves.  Let us go and tell her.  Or is she away still?”

A rather sad smile lit up Hickson’s countenance as he followed his sister to her motor.  “I think she knows it,” he said.

Nancy put her hand on his arm.  “Oh, dear, darling Ned,” she said.  “Get in and drive home with me and tell me all about it.  I knew he really never cared for Christine.  She dazzled and distressed him in about equal proportions.  And yet I doubt if Miss—­Whatever-Her-Name-Was—­will be very exciting—­”

“It is not Miss Lane, who, by the way, I like and admire very much,” said Ned, firmly.

“Who is it?  Some one I know?”

“Yes, you know her.”

Something in his extreme solemnity transferred the idea to her.

“You don’t mean that Christine—­”

He nodded.  “I was at their wedding yesterday.”

“And where are they?”

“That’s it, Nancy.  They’re living in a flat and they have no servant—­”

His sister leaned back and laughed heartily, and then composing her countenance with an effort, she said:  “My poor dear!  But it’s really all for the best.  She won’t stay with him six months.”