“Oh!” said Soames, inexpressibly dry.  “He rather cottons?”

“Yes, sir; do you?”

Soames smiled faintly.

“You see,” resumed Mont, twiddling his straw hat, while his hair, ears, eyebrows, all seemed to stand up from excitement, “when you’ve been through the War you can’t help being in a hurry.”

“To get married; and unmarried afterward,” said Soames slowly.

“Not from Fleur, sir.  Imagine, if you were me!”

Soames cleared his throat.  That way of putting it was forcible enough.

“Fleur’s too young,” he said.

“Oh! no, sir.  We’re awfully old nowadays.  My Dad seems to me a perfect babe; his thinking apparatus hasn’t turned a hair.  But he’s a Baronight, of course; that keeps him back.”

“Baronight,” repeated Soames; “what may that be?”

“Bart, sir.  I shall be a Bart some day.  But I shall live it down, you know.”

“Go away and live this down,” said Soames.

Young Mont said imploringly:  “Oh! no, sir.  I simply must hang around, or I shouldn’t have a dog’s chance.  You’ll let Fleur do what she likes, I suppose, anyway.  Madame passes me.”

“Indeed!” said Soames frigidly.

“You don’t really bar me, do you?” and the young man looked so doleful that Soames smiled.

“You may think you’re very old,” he said; “but you strike me as extremely young.  To rattle ahead of everything is not a proof of maturity.”

“All right, sir; I give you our age.  But to show you I mean business—­I’ve got a job.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Joined a publisher; my governor is putting up the stakes.”

Soames put his hand over his mouth—­he had so very nearly said:  “God help the publisher!” His grey eyes scrutinised the agitated young man.

“I don’t dislike you, Mr. Mont, but Fleur is everything to me:  Everything—­do you understand?”

“Yes, sir, I know; but so she is to me.”

“That’s as may be.  I’m glad you’ve told me, however.  And now I think there’s nothing more to be said.”

“I know it rests with her, sir.”

“It will rest with her a long time, I hope.”

“You aren’t cheering,” said Mont suddenly.

“No,” said Soames, “my experience of life has not made me anxious to couple people in a hurry.  Good-night, Mr. Mont.  I shan’t tell Fleur what you’ve said.”

“Oh!” murmured Mont blankly; “I really could knock my brains out for want of her.  She knows that perfectly well.”

“I dare say.”  And Soames held out his hand.  A distracted squeeze, a heavy sigh, and soon after sounds from the young man’s motor-cycle called up visions of flying dust and broken bones.