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“This is very jolly, and very unexpected,” said Appleton.

“It is, indeed.”

“I hope you don’t miss the nest-egg.”

“You mustn’t call it a nest-egg! That’s a stale thing, or a china one that they leave in, I don’t know why–for an example, or a pattern, or a suggestion,” said Tommy, laughing. “An egg from the nest is Miss Scattergood’s phrase, and it means a new-laid one.”

“Oh, I see!–well, do you regret it?”

“Certainly not, with this sumptuous repast just beginning!”

“You always give me an appetite,” exclaimed Appleton.

“It’s a humble function, but not one to be despised,” Tommy answered mischievously, fencing, fencing every minute, with her heart beating against her ribs like a sledge-hammer.

Walter brought the fish and solicitously freed the wine card that had somehow crept under a cover of knives and forks.

“I beg ten thousand pardons. What will you drink, Miss Tucker? We must have a drop of something to cheer us at a farewell dinner. Here is a vintage champagne, a good honest wine that will hearten us up and leave no headache in its train.”

“I couldn’t to-night, Mr. Appleton; I really couldn’t.”

“Then I refuse to be exhilarated alone,” said Fergus gallantly; “and you always have the effect of champagne on me anyway. I decline to say good-bye. I can’t even believe it is ‘au revoir’ between us. We had such delightful days ahead, and so many plans.”

“Yes; it isn’t nice to make up your mind so suddenly that it turns everything topsy-turvy,” sighed Tommy–“I won’t have any meat, thank you.”

Walter looked distinctly grieved. “I can recommend the pulley-ong-cazzerole, miss, and there’s potatoes sortey with it.”

Tommy’s appetite kindled at the sound of his accent, and she relented. “Yes, I’ll have a small portion, please, after all.”

“When friends are together the world seems very small, and when they are separated it becomes a space too vast for human comprehension–I think I’ve heard that before, but it’s true,” said Appleton.

“Yes,” Tommy answered, for lack of anything better to say.

“It seems as if we had known each other for years.”

“And it is less than three weeks,” was Tommy’s contribution to the lagging conversation.

“The bishop offered me a letter of introduction to you when he wrote me at the Bexley Sands Inn, you remember, but he added in a postscript that in case of accident he was not to be held responsible. Rather cryptic, I thought–at the time.”

“A little Commonburg, sir?” asked Walter. “It is a very fine ripe one, and we have some fresh water-cress.”

“‘Commonburg,’ Miss Tucker? No? Then bring the coffee, please.”

A desperate silence fell between them, they who had talked unendingly for days and evenings!

When Walter brought the tray with the coffee-pot and the two little cups, Appleton suddenly pushed his chair back, saying: “Let us take our coffee over by the window, shall we, and perhaps I may have a cigarette later? Don’t light the gas, waiter–we want to see the hills and the afterglow.”

There was no avoiding it; Appleton and the waiter conveyed Tommy helplessly over to a table commanding the view and the sunset, and it was the one on which the huge “Engaged” placard reared itself persuasively and suggestively.

“We shall need nothing more, waiter; you may go; I think this will cover the bill,”–and scorning the chair opposite Tommy, Appleton seated himself beside her.

“You have turned your back to the afterglow,” she said, as she reached forward to move “Engaged” to a position a trifle less obvious.

“I don’t care tuppence about the afterglow,” and Appleton covered her hand with his own. “Make it come true, dear, dear Tommy! Make it come true!”

“What?” she asked, between a smile and a tear.

“The placard, dear, the placard! If you should travel the world over, you couldn’t find a man who loves you as I do.”

“What would be the use in my traveling about to find another man when I am so satisfied with this one?” whispered Tommy. “Oh, remember! they may come back at any moment!”