I examined the photograph still more closely. It displayed a lady of twenty or thereabouts, with a weak face, small, vacant features, a feeble chin, a good-humoured, simple mouth, and a wealth of golden hair that seemed to strike a keynote. "In the theatrical profession?" I inquired at last, looking up. He hesitated. "Well, not exactly," he answered. I pursed my lips and blew a ring. "Music-hall stage?" I went on, dubiously. He nodded. "But a girl is not necessarily any the less a lady because she sings at a music-hall," he added, with warmth, displaying an evident desire to be just to his betrothed, however much he admired Daphne. "Certainly not," I admitted. "A lady is a lady; no occupation can in itself unladify her.... But on the music-hall stage, the odds, one must admit, are on the whole against her." "Now, THERE you show prejudice!" "One may be quite unprejudiced," I answered, "and yet allow that connection with the music-halls does not, as such, afford clear proof that a girl is a compound of all the virtues." "I think she's a good girl," he retorted, slowly. "Then why do you want to throw her over?" I inquired. "I don't. That's just it. On the contrary, I mean to keep my word and marry her." "IN ORDER to keep your word?" I suggested. He nodded. "Precisely. It is a point of honour." "That's a poor ground of marriage," I went on. "Mind, I don't want for a moment to influence you, as Daphne's cousin. I want to get at the truth of the situation. I don't even know what Daphne thinks of you. But you promised me a clean breast. Be a man and bare it." He bared it instantly. "I thought I was in love with this girl, you see," he went on, "till I saw Miss Tepping." "That makes a difference," I admitted. "And I couldn't bear to break her heart." "Heaven forbid!" I cried. "It is the one unpardonable sin. Better