"I have a small sum," he said, "just sufficient to last me until I begin
to earn some."

"And you will earn money--how?"

"With my pen, I hope," he answered simply. "I have sent several stories
to the _Ibex_. One they accepted, but it has not appeared yet."

"To make money by writing in London is very difficult they say," she
remarked.

"Everything in life is difficult," he answered confidently. "I am
prepared for disappointment at first. In the end I have no fears."

She handed him a card from her dressing-case.

"Will you come and see me?" she asked.

"Thank you," he answered hesitatingly. "I will come when I have made a
start."

"I know a great many people who are literary, including the editor of
the _Ibex_," she said. "I think if you came that I could help you."

He shook his head.

"The narrow way for me," he answered smiling. "I am very anxious for
success, but I want to win it myself."

Her face was clouded.

"You are a foolish boy," she said. "Believe me that I am offering you
the surest path to success. London is full of young men with talent,
and most days they go hungry."

He stood up, and, though she was annoyed, the fire in his eyes was good
to look upon.

"I must take my place with them," he said. "Whatever my destiny may be
I shall find it."

The final tunnel, and they were gliding into the station alongside the
platform. A tall footman threw open the door of the carriage, and a
lady's maid, with a jewel case in her hand, stared at him with
undisguised curiosity. The lady bade him goodbye kindly, yet with a
note of final dismissal in her tone. He had occupied her time for an
hour or two, and saved her from absolute boredom. The matter was ended
there. Nevertheless, from a quiet corner of the station he watched her
stand listlessly on the platform while her things were being
collected--a tall, distinguished looking figure, and very noticeable
amongst the motley crowd who were streaming from the train. Once he
fancied that her eyes strayed along the way by which he had left. A
moment later she was accosted by a man who had just driven into the
station. She seemed to greet him without enthusiasm. He, on the other
hand, was obviously welcoming her warmly. He too was tall, carefully
dressed and well groomed, middle aged, a type, he supposed, of the men
of her world. There was a few minutes' conversation, then they moved
across the platform to the carriage, which was drawn up waiting. He