too much
petted.

And at last he was obliged to own that his inability to follow his
established precedent was due to some moral deficiency, a species of
cowardice which he could only vaguely analyse, but which was closely
connected with his reluctance to isolate himself among the
loquacious herd of those who sought for health or pleasure. If Oswyn
would have accompanied him to the Riviera he would have gone; but
Oswyn was not to be induced to forsake his beloved city, and so he
stayed, telling himself that each week was to be the last.

On a bright day, when spring seemed to be within measurable distance
in spite of the cold, he made an expedition with Margot to
Kensington Gardens; and they passed, on their way through the Park,
the seat on which he had rested after his interview with Lady
Garnett on that far-away October evening--the memory struck him now
as of another life. It was frosty to-day, and the seat raised itself
forlornly from quite a mound of snow. And when they left the Gardens
he hailed a cab, and, before they had reached the Circus on their
homeward journey, bade the man turn and drive northward, up Orchard
Street and into Grove Road.

It was dusk now, and there were bright touches of light in the
windows of the low, white house, which he glanced at almost
surreptitiously as they passed, and two carriages waited before the
outer door.

"My dear child," he remarked suddenly to the little girl, who was
growing almost frightened by his frowning silence, "you should
always, always remember that when a man has made a fool of himself,
the best thing he can do is to clear out, and not return to his
folly like the proverbial dog!"

Margot looked solemnly puzzled for a moment, and then laughed,
deciding boldly that this was a new and elaborate game--a joke,
perhaps--which she was too little to understand, but which
politeness and good-fellowship alike required her at least to
appear to appreciate. They were great friends already, these two.
Children always recognised an ally in the man who made so few
friends among his peers, and for children--especially for pretty
children of a prettiness which accorded with his own private
views--Rainham had an undeniable weakness.

On slack days--and they were always slack now--loungers about the
precincts of the dock often caught a glimpse of the child's fair
hair above the low level of the dark bow-window which leaned
outwards from Rainham's room; and the foreman