KIPPS
Anon he smiled, anon sighed. He arose, pulled his keys from his pocket, looked at them, decided, and went upstairs. He opened the little yellow box that had been the nucleus of all his possessions in the world, and took out a small "Escritoire," the very humblest sort of present, and opened it—kneeling. And there, in the corner, was a little packet of paper, sealed as a last defence against any prying invader with red sealing wax. It had gone untouched for years. He held this little packet between finger and thumb for a moment, regarding it, and then put down the escritoire and broke the seal. . . .
As he was getting into bed that night he remembered something for the first time!
"Dash it!" he said. "Dashed if I told 'em this time. . . . Well!
"I shall 'ave to go over to New Romney again!"
He got into bed and remained sitting pensively on the pillow for a space.
"It's a rum world," he reflected after a vast interval.
Then he recalled that she had noticed his moustache and embarked upon a sea of egotistical musing.
He imagined himself telling Ann how rich he was. What a surprise that would be for her!
Finally he sighed profoundly, blew out his candle and snuggled down, and in a little while he was asleep. . . .
But the next morning and at intervals afterwards he found himself thinking of Ann—Ann the bright, the desirable, the welcoming, and with an extraordinary streakiness he wanted quite badly to go, and
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