"You think they won't have anything to do with a poor devil of an
artist, I suppose? Right you are, sir; but when the poor devil has a
rich and gouty uncle, who is disposed to be friendly.... See? I
think that alters the complexion of the case. You know, the
Sylvesters are awfully well connected, and so on, but they haven't
got much money. Mrs. Sylvester has a life annuity, and Charles--whom
I always want to call 'Chawles,' because he's so pompous--has got
his professional income. And Eve has got a little, enough to dress
her, I should think. 'Payable quarterly on her attaining the age of
twenty-one years, or marrying under that age, whichever shall first
happen.' I've looked it all up at Somerset House. Last will and
testament of Sylvester Charles Sylvester, Esq. I know they're rather
ambitious, and wouldn't look at me if it wasn't for the Colonel. But
the Colonel is a solid fact, and I've no doubt they think he's
richer than he is. And I am making money, though you mightn't think
it."

"I don't believe Mrs. Sylvester has thought about it at all," said
Rainham doubtfully. "Eve is so young, and young artists are never
looked on as marrying men. Take my advice and think about it."

"_You_ call her Eve, do you? Ah, well, I won't be jealous of you, old
boy. You shall come to the wedding and be best man; or no, the
Colonel will be best man, I suppose? I can imagine him returning
thanks for the bridesmaids in the most dazzling white waistcoat that
was ever starched. Good-night; see you again soon."

"I don't know how it is," thought Rainham, as he walked up Old
Compton Street, on his way to the attic near the British Museum
which he rented when he was in England, for use on occasions of this
kind. "It's very stupid of me, but I can't bear the idea of Eve
marrying. A species of jealousy, I suppose; not ordinary jealousy,
of course. And yet why not? I have never thought of her as anything
but a child ... why shouldn't Lightmark marry her? Eve's young, and
good-looking, and sure to get on; and I'm a selfish old wreck. Yes,
he shall marry her, and I will buy his pictures." Still, he shook
his head even as he formulated this generous solution of the
question, and could not induce himself to regard the position with
equanimity, though he sat up till broad daylight wrestling with it.
"I wonder if I am in love," he said, with a bitter laugh, as he
shook the ashes out of his last pipe.

CHAPTER IX

The upper end of the P