good fellow, of course, but hopeless where the sterner realities of
life are concerned. A man who can't even stop a dog-fight! In a world
which is practically one seething mass of fighting dogs, how could you
trust yourself to such a one? Nobody is fonder of Eustace Hignett than
I am, but ... well, I mean to say!"

"I see what you mean. He really wasn't my ideal."

"Not by a mile."

She mused, her chin in her hand.

"Of course, he was quite a dear in a lot of ways."

"Oh, a splendid chap," said Sam tolerantly.

"Have you ever heard him sing? I think what first attracted me to him
was his beautiful voice. He really sings extraordinarily well."

A slight but definite spasm of jealousy afflicted Sam. He had no
objection to praising poor old Eustace within decent limits, but the
conversation seemed to him to be confining itself too exclusively to
one subject.

"Yes?" he said. "Oh yes, I've heard him sing. Not lately. He does
drawing-room ballads and all that sort of thing still, I suppose?"

"Have you ever heard him sing 'My love is like a glowing tulip that in
an old-world garden grows'?"