"Septimus Dix. I've got another name--Ajax--Septimus Ajax Dix--but I never
use it."

"That's a pity," said Zora. "Ajax is a lovely name."

He dissented in his vague fashion. "Ajax suggests somebody who defies
lightning and fools about with a spear. It's a silly name. A maiden aunt
persuaded my mother to give it to me. I think she mixed it up with
Achilles. She admired the statue in Hyde Park. She got run over by a
milkcart."

"When was that?" she inquired, more out of politeness than interest in the
career of Mr. Dix's maiden aunt.

"A minute before she died."

"Oh," said Zora, taken aback by the emotionless manner in which he
mentioned the tragedy. Then, by way of continuing the conversation:--

"Why are you called Septimus?"

"I'm the seventh son. All the others died young. I never could make out why
I didn't."

"Perhaps," said Zora with a laugh, "you were thinking of something else at
the time and lost the opportunity."

"It must have been that," said he. "I lose opportunities just as I always
lose trains."