"To play second fiddle for the rest of your life after playing first for a quarter of a century is a far-reaching thought," she said.
"Without a doubt it would be," he admitted. "Of course, with some men you wouldn't be called to do it. With Richard Gurd, you would."
"To leave 'The Seven Stars'! Somehow I'd always regarded our place as a higher class establishment than 'The Tiger'—along of the tea-gardens and pleasure ground and the class of company."
"And quite right to do so. But that's only your opinion, and mine. It won't be his. Good night."
He left her deep in thought, then five minutes afterwards thrust his long nose round the door again.
"The English of it is you can't have anything for nothing—not in this weary world," he said.
Then he disappeared.
A week later Sarah Northover came to see her aunt and congratulate her on the great news.
"Now people know it," said Sarah, "they all wonder how ever 'twas you and Mister Gurd didn't marry long ago."
"We've been wondering the same, for that matter, and Richard takes the blame—naturally, since I couldn't say the word before he asked the question. But for your ear and only yours, Sarah, I can whisper that this thing didn't go by rule. And in sober honesty I do believe if he hadn't heard another man wanted me, Mister Gurd would never have found out he did. But such are the strange things that happen in human nature, no doubt."