"What is the matter?" she inquired. Her voice quavered pathetically, for she was highly wrought.
"I couldn't help thinking," said her husband, "of an episode in the history of two old friends of mine. They had been engaged for about three months, when they quarrelled—severely. They parted company for ever, and whenever he or she saw the other upon the horizon, he or she fled. However, after about six weeks of this sort of thing they were taken by surprise. One day the man saw the girl advancing straight upon him down the street, quite oblivious of his proximity. He dived into the nearest shop, which happened to be a baby-linen establishment—"
Daphne gave a sudden gurgle of laughter.
"—And when the girl walked in, two minutes later," concluded Juggernaut, "to match some silk, she found her late beloved diligently sampling Berlin wool. That did it! The sense of humour of that young couple came to their rescue, Daphne, and they walked out of the shop hand-in-hand, not caring a dump for anybody. To my knowledge they have never had a quarrel since. You see the reason why I laughed just now?"
Daphne sighed comfortably.
"Yes," she said. The tension of the situation was relaxed.
"I want to—to talk to you, Jack," she continued, considerably heartened.
"Certainly," replied Juggernaut, with a slight return of his board-room air. "I'll turn the light on."
"Please don't," said Daphne hastily. "I would rather talk in the dark. Will you sit down on the settle?"
Juggernaut obeyed silently. The firelight played upon his face, showing the clear-cut lines of his mouth and his tired eyes. Daphne stood erect before him, keeping her face in the shadow. She had removed her hat and furs, and her thick hair caught the light fantastically.