t now. Trewlove--that's my scoundrel of a butler--has been
making up to him under my name. They met at the house-agent's, probably.
The rogue models himself upon me: but when it comes to letting my house--
By the way, have you paid him by cheque?"

"I paid the agent. I knew nothing of you until Herbert announced that
he'd made your acquaintance--"

"Pray go on," said I, watching her troubled eyes. "It would be
interesting to hear how he described me."

"He used a very funny word. He said you were the rummiest thing in
platers he'd struck for a long while. But, of course, he was talking of
the other man."

"Of course," said I gravely: whereupon our eyes met, and we both laughed.

"Ah, but you are kind!" she cried. "And when I think how we have treated
you--if only I _could_ think--" Her hand went up again to her forehead.

"It will need some reparation," said I. "But we'll discuss that when I
come back."

"Was--was Herbert very bad?" She attempted to laugh, but tears suddenly
brimmed her eyes.

"I scarcely noticed," said I; and, picking up my hat, went out hurriedly.

V.

Trewlove in his Marlborough Street cell was a disgusting object--
offensive to the eye and to one's sense of the dignity of man.
At sight of me he sprawled, and when the shock of it was over he
continued to grovel until the sight bred a shame in me for being the
cause of it. What made it ten times worse was his curious
insensibility--even while he grovelled--to the moral aspect of his
behaviour.

"You will lie here," said I, "until to-morrow morning, when you will
probably be fined fifty shillings and costs, _plus_ the cost of the
broken glass at Toscano's. I take it for granted that the money will
be paid?"

"I will send, sir, to my lodgings for my cheque-book."

"It's a trifling matter, no doubt, but since you will be charged
under the name of William John Trewlove, it will be a mistake to put
'G. A. Richardson' on the cheque."

"It was an error of judgment, sir, my giving your name here."

"It was a worse one," I assured him, "to append it to the receipt for
Miss Jarmayne's rent."

"You don't intend to prosecute, Mr. George?"

"Why not?"

"But you don't, sir; something tells me that you don't."

Well, in fact (as you may have guessed), I did not. I had no desire
to drag Miss Jarmayne into further trouble; but I resented that the
dog should so count on my clemency without knowing the reason of it.

"In jus