“Nothing.  I’m waiting.  But I don’t like his temper.  It’s dangerous.  I think he’s beginning to suspect her sincerity and when he finds out that she’s still playing false with Channing Lloyd—­then look out!”

“You’re going to tell him?”

“No, he’ll discover it.  She’s quite brazen.”

He was silent for a while.

“Pope, you surprise me,” he muttered at last.  “The modern girls, I give them up.  There’s a name for this sort, perverted coquettes, ’teasers.’ The man of the world abominates them, they’re beneath contempt; but Jerry—­No,” he remarked with a shake of the head, “he wouldn’t understand that.”

“And when he does?”

“H—­m!”

His manner added no encouragement.

“It would serve her jolly well right,” he muttered cryptically in a moment.

“What?” I asked.

I think he understood Jerry now as well as I did.

“Violence,” he blurted out.

“Ah!  Then I’m not a fool.  You agree with me.”

“I’m glad I’m not in Lloyd’s shoes, that’s all.”

We resumed our walk, turning back toward the Manor, and I told him of how matters stood with Jerry and Una.  He had not met her, but he knew her history and was, I think, willing to accept her upon her face value.

“But you can’t match mere affection with that sort of witchcraft!” he said.  “It’s like trying to treat the hydrophobia with eau de Cologne.  It can’t be done, my boy.  Your device does credit to your heart if not to your intelligence.  She may come in a pretty bottle which exudes comforting odors but she’s not for him.”

“You’ll be pleasant to her, Jack?  She’s fond of Jerry, not in love with him, you know, but fond.  And doesn’t want to see him made a fool of any more than I do.”

I owed Una this.  Whatever I thought of her feelings toward Jerry, even Jack had no right to be aware of them.

“Pleasant!” he grinned.  “Just you watch.  I’ll be her Fidus Achates.  That’s my specialty.  Pretty, you say?” He kissed the tip of his fingers and gestured lightly toward the heavens.  “I’m your man.  Well, rather.  I’ll make Jerry want to pound my head.  And if he neglects her for Marcia, I’ll pound his.”

Una and her mother were having tea with Jerry on the terrace when we reached the Manor.  Mrs. Habberton was, as Jerry had described her, “a dear old lady” with calm eyes and level brows, “astonishingly well informed” and immensely proud of her pretty daughter.  She was not assertive and while I knew nothing of Mr. Habberton, she somehow conveyed the impression that if there was anything in Mendel’s theory of the working of heredity she and her six daughters went a long way toward exemplifying it.  There was a genuineness about the pair which was distinctly refreshing to Jack’s jaded tastes in fashionable feminine fripperies and he fell into the conversation as smoothly as a finger into a well-fitting glove.  Una made no secret of her delight at being at the Manor and her enthusiasm as we wandered over the place brought more than one smile into Jerry’s tired face.  I know that he enjoyed her being there, but there was a weight upon him which he masked with a dignity that might have deceived others but not Una or me.