"Is that Ben?" Toby asked over the telephone at Aubrey Walk, one evening.

"Speaking," said Ben.

"I must see you," said Toby. "At once."

"But I was just going out," said Ben. "Where are you?"

"I'm at home," said Toby. "I'll come and go with you to wherever you're going. It's frightfully important. It's a matter of life and death."

Ben smiled. She had been expecting this.

"I was only going to Uncle Paul's," she said. "I'll wait for you."

"Righto!" said Toby. "I'll come in a taxi."

He came, looking wild and haggard.

"This is awful," he said. "Vi says she won't wear my ring for six months. And she wants me not to see her."

"For how long?" Ben asked.

"Six months: an eternity. How can I keep away from her for six months? It's too dreadful! If I had any poison I'd take it; but I haven't. And chemists are so jolly careful since those Welsh cases."

"Six months isn't very long," said Ben; "only twenty-six Sundays. You can stand that. Didn't Viola say anything else? She is still fond of you, isn't she?"

"She said so, but I don't understand. If you're fond of anyone you want to be with them. At least, I do. I don't get this fondness that gives you the boot. She said," he went on, "that to be engaged to me was impossible until I had something to do. Her father would never allow it. If I could find something to do, with prospects of an income within six months, she would defy her father and marry me; but she couldn't as it is. Why she doesn't defy him now, I can't see."

"Well," said Ben. "I suppose that a father, as a father, has some rights—at least as long as his daughter is dependent on him."

"But Vi's earning her own living, isn't she?" Toby asked. "Don't you pay her a salary?"

"Not just yet," said Ben. "But we won't go into that. The point is, that she lives at home and Mr. Marquand is her father."

"I had a notion that all this father stuff was out of date," said Toby. "It is, in the novels I've read."

"Only if the children choose to rebel," said Ben. "And neither Viola nor you are going to. Besides, I think he's right. He's Viola's father; he's brought her up. Why should he allow her to become engaged to the first irresponsible young man who comes along?"

"Why do you call me irresponsible?" Toby asked.

"Well, aren't you? Where is your responsibility, anyway? You're only twenty, to begin with. You've only just left Oxford. What do you know?"

"I know my way about," said Toby.

"So does Dolly, my office boy," said Ben, "who's only sixteen. Probably much better than you, because he knows how many pennies there are in a shilling, which you certainly don't. But what do you know? What have you learnt?"

"I know a certain amount of Greek and Latin," said Toby.

"Yes, but how much? Not enough to be a schoolmaster?"

"No," said Toby.

"Do you know any French?"

"Enough to get through a French novel," said Toby.

"Yes, but not enough to explain anything to a custom house officer at Calais?"

"No," said Toby. "Emphatically not."

"What else do you know?"

"I know how to order a dinner."

"That's better," said Ben. "That's the first useful thing you've mentioned."

"And I know a lot of men," said Toby.

"That's good, too," said Ben.

"And I've been asked to play for Middlesex," said Toby. "And, by the way, Vi adores cricket. It's quite the thing now for a man when he's playing away from home to take his wife with him. Heaps of them do. Vi knows quite a lot about the game. You'd be surprised."

"I should forget all that," said Ben. "You can't play for a county and be worth five hundred a year in a short time. If you really want Vi while you're both young, you must think about work, and nothing but work. Do you want her as much as that? As much as to give up cricket?"

"Of course," said Toby. "Of course I do. I can't live without her."

"You mean," said Ben, "you dislike the thought of living without her; but you'll find yourself doing so, all right. And how much does she want you?"

"I don't know," said Toby. "I don't see why she should want me at all; but she seems to. We seem to suit each other down to the ground."

"And you really and truly believe that you would like to become a married man and have a small house and go home every evening to dinner and play cricket only on Saturdays? You would look upon that as the perfect life?"

"Absolutely," said Toby.

"Very well then," said Ben, "you must act accordingly. You must remember those old fairy-tales we used to read, where the woodcutter's son, or whoever it was, had to perform all kinds of difficult tasks before he could win the princess. Your task is, as quickly as possible, to go into some business and make yourself indispensable. So far as I can see, all that Oxford has done for you, if you are to make money, is to give you an agreeable accent and nice cool manners. I fancy it's the times you've played truant in London or were at home in the vacations that have really been most useful. You couldn't learn at Oxford to order dinner."

"But what am I to do?" Toby asked. "That's the question. The governor wants me to go into Uncle Arthur's office in the city. But what's the good of that? He's got three partners as it is, all with sons. It would be years before I got a footing there."

"No," said Ben. "I shouldn't vote for that. You'd simply loaf and gamble. I'll talk to father about it."

"It's a pity you stopped me betting," said Toby. "If you hadn't, I should be rich to-day. That priceless boy of yours gave me a tip for a 100 to 8 winner, but I didn't do it. He's a marvel. He knows the whole thing—trainers, jockeys, pedigrees, courses—and he hears things too. Your friend Harford follows his advice like a baby."

"You promised," said Ben.

"I know," said Toby, "and I'll stick to it; but I think it was a mistake."

"No," said Ben, "it wasn't. But, anyway, we'll forget it and concentrate on the future. I'll go and see father first. After all, it's his job to see that you are started in something, and meanwhile don't be depressed. You ought to be proud to be put on your mettle for a girl like Vi. It makes a knight of you! You'll be happier now, won't you?"

And Toby promised.