it me to say so, sir, you have my
respectful sympathy."

Dignity is a sensitive plant which nourishes only under the fairest
conditions. Sam's had perished in the bleak east wind of Billie's note.
In other circumstances he might have resented this intrusion of a
stranger into his most intimate concerns. His only emotion now, was one
of dull but distinct gratitude. The four winds of Heaven blew chilly
upon his raw and unprotected soul, and he wanted to wrap it up in a
mantle of sympathy, careless of the source from which he borrowed that
mantle. If Webster felt disposed, as he seemed to indicate, to comfort
him, let the thing go on. At that moment Sam would have accepted
condolences from a coal-heaver.

"I was reading a story--one of the Nosegay Novelettes; I do not know if
you are familiar with the series, sir?--in which much the same
situation occurred. It was entitled 'Cupid or Mammon.' The heroine, Lady
Blanche Trefusis, forced by her parents to wed a wealthy suitor,
despatches a note to her humble lover, informing him it cannot be. I
believe it often happens like that, sir."

"You're all wrong," said Sam. "It's not that at all."

"Indeed, sir? I supposed it was."

"Nothing like it! I--I----."

Sam's dignity, on its death-bed, made a last effort to assert itself.

"I don't know what it's got to do with you!"

"Precisely, sir!" said Webster, with dignity. "Just as you say! Good
afternoon, sir!"

He swayed gracefully, conveying a suggestion of departure without moving
his feet. The action was enough for Sam. Dignity gave an expiring
gurgle, and passed away, regretted by all.

"Don't go!" he cried.

The idea of being left alone in this infernal lane, without human
support, overpowered him. Moreover, Webster had personality. He exuded
it. Already Sam had begun to cling to him in spirit, and rely on his
support.

"Don't go!"

"Certainly not, if you do not wish it, sir."

Webster coughed gently, to show his appreciation of the delicate nature
of the conversation. He was consumed with curiosity, and his threatened
departure had been but a pretence. A team of horses could not have moved
Webster at that moment.

"Might I ask, then, what...?"

"There's been a misunderstanding," said Sam. "At least, there was, but
now there isn't, if you see what I mean."

"I fear I have not quite grasped your meaning, sir."

"Well, I--I--played a sort of--you might almost call it a sort of trick
on Miss Bennett. With t