has become of my excellent training?"

Chilcote laughed. "Run to seed," he said, lightly. Then his
expression and tone changed. "When a man gets to my age," he
added, "little social luxuries don't seem worth while; the
social necessities are irksome enough. Personally, I envy the
beggar in the street--exempt from shaving, exempt from
washing--"

Lillian raised her delicate eyebrows. The sentiment was
beyond her perception.

"But manicuring," she said, reproachfully, "when you have such
nice hands. It was your hands and your eyes, you know, that
first appealed to me." She sighed gently, with a touch of
sentimental remembrance. "And I thought it so strong of you
not to wear rings--it must be such a temptation." She looked
down at her own fingers, glittering with jewels.

But the momentary pleasure of her touch was gone. Chilcote
drew away his hand and picked up the book that lay between
them.

"Other Men's Shoes!" he read. "A novel, of course?"

She smiled. "Of course. Such a fantastic story. Two men
changing identities."

Chilcote rose and walked back to the mantel-piece.