"Ooo!" she said, hanging up the receiver, "Herbert's a hero. He's just been
telling me. And he's coming to dinner to-night."

"I also," I responded with emotion, "have a tale to unfold," and I unfolded
it.

When at last Herbert, moving modestly under the burden of a newly acquired
D.S.O., arrived at the flat, hospitality and an unaccustomed awe withheld
me from referring to so sordid a matter as the inconsiderable decrease in
my lately-invested capital. Herbert, however, deprecated heroics, and, as
he was saying good-night, came of his own accord to the subject of debts.
He was always a conscientious fellow.

"You know, old chap," he said with charming candour, as I saw him off from
the doorstep, "you _must_ remind me to pay up that two quid some time. I
keep forgetting, and when I do remember, like now, I haven't any money to
do it with. Cheero!" The door clicked and I swooned.

It was very difficult; I could not even make up my mind whether my best
policy was to stalk Herbert with vigilance or to avoid him as persistently
as discipline allowed. On the one hand he wasn't the cheque-book kind of
man and he wouldn't pay me unless he saw me. Contrariwise, he wouldn't even
if he did, and whenever he saw me my original loan of ten gold sovereigns
might continue its rapid decline. Finally I decided to abstain from his
society.

Shortly after this momentous decision the War Office sent him off to some
remote part of the country, and for many months our financial relations
remained unaltered--at any rate in my own estimation. He was still far away