‘Have you her portrait?’

’Oh no!  Things haven’t got so far as that.  What a hasty fellow you are, Earwaker!  I told you distinctly’——­

He talked till after midnight, and at leave-taking apologised profusely for wasting his friend’s valuable time.

Earwaker awaited with some apprehension the result of Malkin’s visit to Wrotham.  But the report of what took place on that occasion was surprisingly commonplace.  Weeks passed, and Malkin seldom showed himself at Staple Inn; when he did so, his talk was exclusively of Miss Maccabe; all he could be got to say of the young ladies at Wrotham was, ’Nice girls; very nice girls.  I hope they’ll marry well.’  Two months had gone by, and already the journalist had heard by letter of his friend’s intention to return to New Zealand, when, on coming home late one night, he found Malkin sitting on the steps.

’Earwaker, I have something very serious to tell you.  Give me just a quarter of an hour.’

What calamity did this tone portend?  The eccentric man seated himself with slow movement.  Seen by a good light, his face was not gloomy, but very grave.

‘Listen to me, old friend,’ he began, sliding forward to the edge of his chair.  ’You remember I told you that my relations with the Maccabe family had been marked throughout with extreme discretion.’

‘You impressed that upon me.’

’Good!  I have never made love to Miss Maccabe, and I doubt whether she has ever thought of me as a possible husband.’

‘Well?’

’Don’t be impatient.  I want you to grasp the fact.  It is important, because—­I am going to marry Bella Jacox.’

‘You don’t say so?’

‘Why not?’ cried Malkin, suddenly passing to a state of excitement.  ’What objection can you make?  I tell you that I am absolutely free to choose’——­

The journalist calmed him, and thereupon had to hear a glowing account of Bella’s perfections.  All the feeling that Malkin had suppressed during these two months rushed forth in a flood of turbid eloquence.

‘And now,’ he concluded, ’you will come down with me to Wrotham.  I don’t mean to-night; let us say the day after tomorrow, Sunday.  You remember our last joint visit!  Ha, ha!’

‘Mrs. Jacox is reconciled?’

’My dear fellow, she rejoices!  A wonderful nobility in that poor little woman!  She wept upon my shoulder!  But you must see Bella!  I shan’t take her to New Zealand, at all events not just yet.  We shall travel about Europe, completing her education.  Don’t you approve of that?’

On Sunday, the two travelled down into Kent.  This time they were received by Lily, now a pretty, pale, half-developed girl of fifteen.  In a few minutes her sister entered.  Bella was charming; nervousness made her words few, and it could be seen that she was naturally thoughtful, earnest, prone to reverie; her beauty had still to ripen, and gave much promise for the years between twenty and thirty.