"I've already told you," responded the other, good-humouredly.[8] "I wanted to see what life really was, when you didn't have someone near at hand to feed you, and clothe you, and make much of you; I wanted to look at a world where banking accounts and dividends were unknown, and stocks and shares something not to be considered. I wanted to see what people were like who had to scramble for a living—to scramble, in fact, for the crumbs that fall from tables such as mine. I had read in books of people who had a difficulty in making both ends meet—and quite nice people at that; I had dreamed of a world outside my own very ordinary one, where romance was to be found—and beauty—and love and tenderness. I was sick to death of the high voices and the gracious airs and the raised eyebrows of most of the women I knew—the time-killers, with nothing in the world to occupy them; I wanted to take off my coat, and get back to what I know my grandfather, at least, was in his time: a real hard-working citizen. A better man than ever I shall be, Jordan; a clear-headed, clear-hearted fellow, with no nonsense about him. He made a fortune—and my father trebled it; it has been my sacred mission to spend it. There"—he got to his feet, and stretched his arms above his head, and laughed—"I've done preaching; and you shall tell me all the news from the great world out of which I have dropped."

[8]

"What news can I have to give you?" demanded Mr. Tant, with an almost aggressive glance at his friend. "Oh, I know what you're going to say," he added rapidly as he raised his hand—"that that[9] is the best comment on what you have said. But, at all events, we live respectably—not in hovels."

[9]

"Respectable is the word," said Gilbert, with something of a sigh. "And yet I'm sure that you really have news—of a sort. Come—a bargain with you: you shall give me your news, bit by bit, and item by item; and I'll see if I can match it from my experience here."

"Well, in the first place," said Mr. Jordan Tant, shifting uneasily on his chair, and finally drawing up his legs until his heels rested on the front wooden rail of it—"in the first place, Miss Enid wonders what has become of you, and is naturally somewhat troubled about you." He said it sulkily, with the air of one to whom the delivery of the message was a disagreeable task.

"Exactly. And the fair Enid is in that drawing-room which is like a hot-house, and is yawning the hours away, and glancing occasionally at the clock, to determine how long it is since she had lunch, and how 

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