“And a very good thing to do,” said Archie.  “I’ve often meant to do it myself when I got a bit of time.”

“About that picture, I mean.  Did you know it was father’s birthday to-morrow?”

“Why no, old thing, I didn’t, to be absolutely honest.  Your revered parent doesn’t confide in me much these days, as a matter of fact.”

“Well, it is.  And I think we ought to give him a present.”

“Absolutely.  But how?  I’m all for spreading sweetness and light, and cheering up the jolly old pater’s sorrowful existence, but I haven’t a bean.  And, what is more, things have come to such a pass that I scan the horizon without seeing a single soul I can touch.  I suppose I could get into Reggie van Tuyl’s ribs for a bit, but—­I don’t know—­touching poor old Reggie always seems to me rather like potting a pitting bird.”

“Of course, I don’t want you to do anything like that.  I was thinking—­Archie, darling, would you be very hurt if I gave father the picture?”

“Oh, I say!”

“Well, I can’t think of anything else.”

“But wouldn’t you miss it most frightfully?”

“Oh, of course I should.  But you see—­father’s birthday—­”

Archie had always thought Lucille the dearest and most unselfish angel in the world, but never had the fact come home to him so forcibly as now.  He kissed her fondly.

“By Jove!” he exclaimed.  “You really are, you know!  This is the biggest thing since jolly old Sir Philip What’s-his-name gave the drink of water to the poor blighter whose need was greater than his, if you recall the incident.  I had to sweat it up at school, I remember.  Sir Philip, poor old bean, had a most ghastly thirst on, and he was just going to have one on the house, so to speak, when... but it’s all in the history-books.  This is the sort of thing Boy Scouts do!  Well, of course, it’s up to you, queen of my soul.  If you feel like making the sacrifice, right-o!  Shall I bring the pater up here and show him the picture?”

“No, I shouldn’t do that.  Do you think you could get into his suite to-morrow morning and hang it up somewhere?  You see, if he had the chance of—­what I mean is, if—­yes, I think it would be best to hang it up and let him discover it there.”

“It would give him a surprise, you mean, what?”

“Yes.”

Lucille sighed inaudibly.  She was a girl with a conscience, and that conscience was troubling her a little.  She agreed with Archie that the discovery of the Wigmore Venus in his artistically furnished suite would give Mr. Brewster a surprise.  Surprise, indeed, was perhaps an inadequate word.  She was sorry for her father, but the instinct of self-preservation is stronger than any other emotion.

Archie whistled merrily on the following morning as, having driven a nail into his father-in-law’s wallpaper, he adjusted the cord from which the Wigmore Venus was suspended.  He was a kind-hearted young man, and, though Mr. Daniel Brewster had on many occasions treated him with a good deal of austerity, his simple soul was pleased at the thought of doing him a good turn, He had just completed his work and was stepping cautiously down, when a voice behind him nearly caused him to overbalance.