her amorously in its arms.

After a long, long silence she sighed, remembering her companion.

"Thank you for not talking," she said softly.

"Don't," he replied. "I had nothing to say. I never talk. I've scarcely
talked for a year."

She laughed idly.

"Why?"

"No one to talk to. Except my man," he added conscientiously. "His name is
Wiggleswick."

"I hope he looks after you well," said Zora, with a touch of maternal
instinct.

"He wants training. That's what I am always telling him. But he can't hear.
He's seventy and stone-deaf. But he's interesting. He tells me about jails
and things."

"Jails?"

"Yes. He spent most of his time in prison. He was a professional
burglar--but then he got on in years. Besides, the younger generation was
knocking at the door."

"I thought that was the last thing a burglar would do," said Zora.