“I don’t believe it for a moment.  Besides, why should it be?”

“Because it’s necessary to keep the species going.  By constantly fighting with others for some goal, it sharpens our faculties and makes us more fitted to hold our own; if it weren’t for this struggle, we should stagnate and very soon go under.”

“Even if some of what you say is true, there’s the pleasure of getting.”

“At first.  But if one ‘spots’ this clever trick of nature and one is convinced that nothing, nothing on earth is worth struggling for—­ what then?”

“That it’s a very foolish state of mind to get into, and the sooner you get out of it the better.”

“You said just now there was the pleasure of getting.  I know something better.”

“And that?”

“The pleasure of forgetting.”

He glanced meaningly at her.

“Are you forgetting now?” she asked.

“Can you ask?”

Mavis blushed; she bent down to pat Jill in order to conceal the pleasure his words gave her.

“Tell me what Archie Windebank said about me,” she presently said.

“Blow Windebank!”

“I want to know.”

“Then I suppose I must tell you.”

“Of course:  out with it and get it over.”

“You met him once in town, didn’t you?”

“Only once.”

“Where?”

“Quite casually.  Tell me what he said.”

“He wanted to know if I’d ever run across you, and, if I did, I was at once to wire to him and let him know.”

“Are you going to?”

“No fear,” replied Perigal emphatically.

“Aren’t men very selfish?” she asked.

“They are where those women they admire are concerned.”

At the conclusion of the meal, they sat in the inn garden.  They spoke of old times, old associations.  Mavis gave Perigal an abridged account of her doings since she had last seen him, omitting to mention her experience with Mr Orgles, Mrs Hamilton, and Miss Ewer.

“I suppose you’ve run across a lot of chaps in London?” he presently remarked.

“No, I haven’t run against any ‘chaps’, as you call them.”

“Rot!”

“It’s a fact.”

“Do you mean to say you’ve never yet had a love affair?”

“That’s a business that requires two, isn’t it?”

“Usually.”

“Well, I’ve always made a point of standing out.”

“Eh!”

“I suppose it’s vanity—­call it that if you like—­but I think too much of myself to be a party to a mere love affair, as you would call it.”

Perigal glanced at her as if to see if she were speaking seriously.  Then he was lost in thought for some minutes, during which he often looked in her direction.

“What are you thinking of?” she asked.

“That, to a decent chap, little Mavis would be something of a find, as women go.”

“You don’t think much of women, then?”