“Then we come to to-day,” continued Windebank.

“The least said of to-day the better.”

“I’m not so sure; it may have the happiest results.”

“Don’t talk nonsense.”

“Do let me go on.  Assuming you were little Mavis, where do I find her—­eh?”

Here Windebank’s face hardened.

“That woman ought to be shot,” he cried.  “As it is, I’ve a jolly good mind to show her up.  And to think she got you there!”

“Ssh!”

“You’ve no idea what a house it is.  It’s quite the worst thing of its kind in London.”

“Then what were you doing there?”

“Eh!”

“What were you doing there?”

“I’m not a plaster saint,” he replied.

“Who said you were?”

“And I’m interested in life:  curious to see all sides of it.  She’s often asked me, but to-night, when she wired to say she’d a paragon coming to dinner, I went.”

“She wired?”

“To-night.  It all but missed me.  I’m no end of glad it didn’t.”

“I suppose I ought to be glad too,” remarked Mavis.

“I know you think me a bad egg, but I’m not; I’m not really,” he went on, to add, after a moment’s pause, “I believe at heart I’m a sentimentalist.”

“What’s that?”

“A bit of a bally fool where the heart is concerned.  What?”

“I think all nice people are that,” she murmured.

“Thanks.”

“I wasn’t including you,” she remarked.

“Eat that ice.”

“Wild horses wouldn’t make me.”

“You’d eat it if you knew what pleasure it would give me.”

“You want me to break my word?” she said, with a note of defiance in her voice.

“Have your own way.”

“I mean to,”

The ices were taken away.  Windebank went on talking.

“You’ve no idea how careful a chap with domestic instincts, who isn’t altogether a pauper, has to be.  Women make a dead set at him.”

“Poor dear!” commented Mavis.

“Fact.  You mayn’t believe it, but every woman—­nearly every woman he meets—­goes out of her way to have a go at him.”

“Nonsense!”

Windebank did not heed the interruption; he went on: 

“Old Perigal, Charlie Perigal’s father, is a rum old chap; lives alone and never sees anyone and all that.  One day he asked me to call, and what d’ye think he said?”

“Give it up.”

“Boy! you’re commencing life, and you should know this:  always bear in mind the value of money and the worthlessness of most women.  Good-bye.”

“What a horrid old man!”

“Yes, that’s what he said.”

“And do you bear it in mind?”

“Money I don’t worry about.  I’ve more than I know what to do with.  As to women, I’m jolly well on my guard.”

“You’re as bad as old Perigal, every bit.”

“But one has to be.  Have some of these strawberries?”