there was
the first-class railway fare. Once in London--he could pawn things to
keep him going, and a Bloomsbury landlady with whom he had lodged,
since the loss of Jane, would give him a fortnight or three weeks'
credit. But he had to get to London-to get there gloriously; so that
when the turn of Fortune's wheel enabled him to seek again these
wonderful friends in the aristocratic sphere to which he belonged, he
could come among them untarnished, the conquering prince. But that
miserable guinea! He racked his brains. There was his gold watch and
chain, a symbol, to his young mind, of high estate. When he had bought
it there crossed his mind the silly thought of its signification of the
infinite leagues that lay between him and Billy Goodge. He could pawn
it for ten pounds--it would be like pawning his heart's blood--but
where? Not in Morebury, even supposing there was a pawnbroker's in the
place. He had many friends in his profession, scattered up and down the
land. But he had created round himself the atmosphere of the young
magnifico. It was he who had lent, others who had borrowed. Rothschild
or Rockefeller inviting any of them to lend him money would have
produced less jaw-dropping amazement. Even if he sent his pride flying
and appealed to the most friendly and generous, he shrank from the
sacrifice he would call upon the poor devil to make. There was only his
beautiful and symbolic watch and chain. The nearest great town where he
could be sure of finding a pawnbroker was distant an hour's train
journey.

So on the day before that for which, in spite of hospitable
protestations on the part of Colonel and Miss Winwood, he had fixed his
departure, he set forth on the plea of private business, and returned
with a heavier pocket and a heavier heart. He had been so proud, poor
boy, of the gold insignia across his stomach. He had had a habit of
fingering it lovingly. Now it was gone. He felt naked--in a curious way
dishonoured. There only remained his cornelian talisman. He got back in
time for tea and kept his jacket closely buttoned. But in the evening
he had perforce to appear stark and ungirt--in those days Fashion had
not yet decreed, as it does now, the absence of watchchain on evening
dress--and Paul shambled into the drawing-room like a guest without a
wedding garment. There were still a few people staying in the
house--the shooting party proper, and Lady Chudley, had long since
gone--but enough remained to be