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wouldn't do that?" he said, in a low voice.
    There was no weakness in Myrtle Shoesmith. She could see that her words had shaken this man to his foundations, and in a way, despite her justifiable indignation, she was sorry for him. But she was a firm believer in punishment where punishment had been earned. She removed her glove.
    "I had already made up my mind to do it, coming up in the train. I am certainly not going to marry a man capable of behaving as you have done. I thought that I might be able to make something of you, but I see that I was mistaken. Here is your ring."
    Jeff, twiddling it between thumb and forefinger, was struck by one of those quaint thoughts which so often came to him when he was in joyous mood. With the idea of easing the strain and making the party go, he decided to share it with his companion.
    "You know," he said, "this makes me feel like a pawnbroker."
    "What on earth do you mean?"
    "Your giving me this ring. As if you had brought it in to the old pop shop and were asking me what I could spring on it."
    "Good-bye," said Myrtle Shoesmith, rightly revolted, and was off down the stairs before Jeff knew that she had started. She understood now what her father had meant when he had described this young man as unbalanced and flippant.
     
     

 
    CHAPTER V
     
    Jeff tottered back into his chair. He was feeling weak and spent. Sudden joy often has this effect, temporarily numbing the faculties. He was dimly aware that Ma Balsam was addressing him, and nodded absently. And from the fact that she went out, with a kindly word about drinking it while it was hot, he gathered that she must have been asking him if he would like his tea. And, sure enough, a few moments later she reappeared, bearing a loaded tray.
    He eyed it without enthusiasm. Much has been said by writers through the ages in praise of tea, but there are occasions in a man's life when this pleasant, but mild, beverage, will not serve. Scarcely had Ma Balsam withdrawn, with another kindly word about hoping that he would enjoy the rock cakes, when he perceived that this was one of them.
    In this supreme moment, he wanted to celebrate, and it seemed to him that the sort of celebration he had in mind called for something stronger than tea, something more authoritative, something that did not merely cheer without inebriating but bit like a serpent and stung like an adder. And it so happened that in his cupboard he had a bottle of the hell-brew required.
    Five minutes later, he was sitting with his feet on the window-sill, a lively glow permeating his entire system, his mood one of bubbling ecstasy. And so, for a space, it remained.
    But after a while he found his thoughts taking a graver turn. At a time like this, he saw, it was not enough merely to rejoice. Nor was it enough, he realised, that we should have these great emotional crises in our lives. The important thing was to profit by them, to learn their lesson and act upon it: and he perceived that this wonderful piece of good fortune had been sent to him for a purpose.
    It was easy, of course, to see what that purpose was. If he had a fault, it was, he knew, that in his relations with the opposite sex he was inclined to be a little too cordial, just a shade more chummy than was actually necessary. He liked girls. Tall girls, small girls, slim girls, plump girls, blonde girls, dark girls, he liked them all. And too often, when confronted with one, he was apt to start buzzing.
    Yes, that was the blemish in his character which this experience had been sent to correct. He was a buzzer. Nature had dowered him with a ready flow of that small-talk which is part badinage and part sentiment, and far too frequently, when assisting at parties, routs and revels, he found himself backing the prettiest girl present into a corner and starting to buzz at her.
    He had done it, he recollected with a shudder, even with Myrtle Shoesmith: and this whole Myrtle Shoesmith episode, with its hideous peril averted