'Well, my dear boy,' said Chilver, cheerfully, 'it may be that.'
'Unless,' his friend went on, 'you're—in the interest of every one, if you'll permit me the expression?—magnificently lying.' Chilver's slow, good-humoured headshake was so clearly, however, the next moment, a sufficient answer to this that the younger man could only add as drily as he might: 'You'll know when you want to.'
'I shall know, doubtless, when I ask. But I feel at present that I shall never ask.'
'Never?'
'Never.'
Braddle waited a moment. 'Then how the devil shall I know?'
Something in the tone of it renewed his companion's laughter. 'Have you supposed I'd tell you?'
'Well, you ought to, you know. And—yes—I've believed it.'
'But, my good man, I can't ask for you.'
Braddle turned it over. 'Why not, when one thinks of it? You know you owe me something.'
'But—good heavens!—what?'
'Well, some kindness. You know you've all the fun of being awfully sorry for me.'
'My dear chap!' Chilver murmured, patting his shoulder. 'Well, give me time!' he easily added.
'To the end of your year? I'll come back then,' said Braddie, going off.
VII
He came back punctually enough, and one of the results of it was a talk that, a few weeks later, he had one Sunday afternoon with Mrs. Chilver, whom, till this occasion—though it was not his first visit to the house—he had not yet seen
