"I doubt it," said Tony; "not if our present theology is anything approaching accurate." He picked up a dinner-jacket from the bed and began slowly to put it on. "Besides," he added thoughtfully, "I shouldn't like to die just yet. I think I see a chance of doing a little good in the world."
Guy looked at him suspiciously. "Who was that girl you had to breakfast with you?" he asked.
"Really, Guy!" said Tony, "you get more cynical every day." He crossed to the washstand, and taking a carnation out of its glass proceeded to arrange it in his button-hole.
"But who is she?" persisted Guy.
"She is my adopted cousin. Her name is Isabel—Isabel Francis. I adopted her after breakfast this morning."
There was a short pause. Then in a faintly ironical voice Guy observed: "Since she appears to be a relation of mine also, perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me where and when you met her."
"Not in the least," said Tony imperturbably. "We met each other in Long Acre last night at about a quarter to eleven."
"Where?" exclaimed Guy.
"Long Acre," repeated Tony. "It's a popular thoroughfare running out of Leicester Square." He watched his cousin's face for a moment with some enjoyment, and then added: "If you would try to look less like the recording angel I might tell you all about it."
"Go on," said Guy.