“You seem to me admirably adapted for one another,” I answered, truthfully.  I had not the slightest compunction in handing Reggie Nettlecraft over to Sissie, nor in handing Sissie over to Reggie Nettlecraft.

“Adapted for one another?  That’s just it.  There, you hit the right nail plump on the cocoanut, Cumberground!  But Sissie’s an artful one, she is.  She’s playing for the other Johnnie.  He’s got the dibs, you know; and Sissie wants the dibs even more than she wants yours truly.”

“Got what?” I inquired, not quite catching the phrase.

“The dibs, old man; the chink; the oof; the ready rhino.  He rolls in it, she says.  I can’t find out the chap’s name, but I know his Guv’nor’s something or other in the millionaire trade somewhere across in America.”

“She writes to you, I think?”

“That’s so; every blooming day; but how the dummy did you come to know it?”

“She lays letters addressed to you on the hall table at her lodgings in Scarborough.”

“The dickens she does!  Careless little beggar!  Yes, she writes to me—­pages.  She’s awfully gone on me, really.  She’d marry me if it wasn’t for the Johnnie with the dibs.  She doesn’t care for him:  she wants his money.  He dresses badly, don’t you see; and, after all, the clothes make the man!  I’d like to get at him.  I’d spoil his pretty face for him.”  And he assumed a playfully pugilistic attitude.

“You really want to get rid of this other fellow?” I asked, seeing my chance.

“Get rid of him?  Why, of course!  Chuck him into the river some nice dark night if I could once get a look at him!”

“As a preliminary step, would you mind letting me see one of Miss Montague’s letters?” I inquired.

He drew a long breath.  “They’re a bit affectionate, you know,” he murmured, stroking his beardless chin in hesitation.  “She’s a hot ’un, Sissie is.  She pitches it pretty warm on the affection-stop, I can tell you.  But if you really think you can give the other Johnnie a cut on the head with her letters—­well, in the interests of true love, which never does run smooth, I don’t mind letting you have a squint, as my friend, at one of her charming billy-doos.”

He took a bundle from a drawer, ran his eye over one or two with a maudlin air, and then selected a specimen not wholly unsuitable for publication.  “There’s one in the eye for C.,” he said, chuckling.  “What would C. say to that, I wonder?  She always calls him C., you know; it’s so jolly non-committing.  She says, ’I only wish that beastly old bore C. were at Halifax—­which is where he comes from and then I would fly at once to my own dear Reggie!  But, hang it all, Reggie boy, what’s the good of true love if you haven’t got the dibs?  I must have my comforts.  Love in a cottage is all very well in its way; but who’s to pay for the fizz, Reggie?’ That’s her refinement, don’t you see?  Sissie’s awfully refined.  She was brought up with the tastes and habits of a lady.”