"No, don't let us have any melodramatic nonsense with straws, or bits of wood of different lengths. We'll go down to the gateway to-morrow between one and two, when there's scarcely a creature about, and one shall look up the street, and the other down. Whoever can count twenty human beings first shall have first right to speak. Are you agreeable?"
"All serene. But what if we both call out at once?"
"Try again, of course. It ain't likely to happen twice. The sentry will think we have got a wager on, so there won't be any fuss."
* * * * * *
Charteris proved successful in the counting competition, announcing his twenty while Gerrard had only reached seventeen. As he was dining with the Cinnamonds that night, the fates seemed to be propitious. But when Gerrard came back from supping with the James Antonys, he found his friend reclining on the verandah, in an attitude suggestive of despondency.
"Sold again!" said a sepulchral voice from the recesses of the long chair.
"You don't mean that she has refused you, Bob?"
"Oh, don't I?" the voice suggested something more than sulkiness. "If I don't, I'm very much mistaken. She told me that I wasn't what she expected, in a way that implied I was a very poor creature indeed. If that was acceptance, all I can say is, I hope you may be accepted too!"