ll yourself a special correspondent! Pack first and inquire
afterwards.'

An hour later Torpenhow was despatched into the night for a hansom.

'You'll probably think of some place to go to while you're moving,' said
Dick. 'On to Euston, to begin with, and--oh yes--get drunk to-night.'

He returned to the studio, and lighted more candles, for he found the
room very dark.

'Oh, you Jezebel! you futile little Jezebel! Won't you hate me
to-morrow!--Binkie, come here.'

Binkie turned over on his back on the hearth-rug, and Dick stirred him
with a meditative foot.

'I said she was not immoral. I was wrong. She said she could cook. That
showed premeditated sin. Oh, Binkie, if you are a man you will go to
perdition; but if you are a woman, and say that you can cook, you will
go to a much worse place.'

CHAPTER X

What's you that follows at my side?--
The foe that ye must fight, my lord.--
That hirples swift as I can ride?--
The shadow of the night, my lord.--
Then wheel my horse against the foe!--
He's down and overpast, my lord.

Ye war against the sunset glow;
The darkness gathers fast, my lord.

--The Fight of Heriot's Ford.

'THIS is a cheerful life,' said Dick, some days later. 'Torp's away;
Bessie hates me; I can't get at the notion of the Melancolia; Maisie's
letters are scrappy; and I believe I have indigestion. What give a man
pains across the head and spots before his eyes, Binkie? Shall us take
some liver pills?'

Dick had just gone through a lively scene with Bessie. She had for the
fiftieth time reproached him for sending Torpenhow away. She explained
her enduring hatred for Dick, and made it clear to him that she only sat
for the sake of his money. 'And Mr. Torpenhow's ten times a better man
than you,' she concluded.

'He is. That's why he went away. I should have stayed and made love to
you.'

The girl sat with her chin on her hand, scowling. 'To me! I'd like to
catch you! If I wasn't afraid o' being hung I'd kill you. That's what
I'd do.

D'you believe me?'

Dick smiled wearily. It is not pleasant to live in the company of a
notion that will not work out, a fox-terrier that cannot talk, and a
woman who talks too much. He would have answered, but at that moment
there unrolled itself from one corner of the studio a veil, as it were,
of the flimsiest gauze. He rubbed his eyes, but the gray haze would not
go.

'This is disgraceful indigestio