is a gang of plunderers scheming for their own
ends. Fancy having to whitewash these ruffians in my leading articles. A
somebody! Rather the millioneth man in London than the first in
Laysford."

This looked bad for Flo; her reason for his staying was his own reason
for wishing himself away. Henry was horridly honest and absurdly upright
to be a newspaper editor in a thriving provincial town.

"I tell you frankly," he went on, while Flo walked now in moody silence
by his side, "I could never settle down in Laysford. Any ass with money
is courted here."

"And it's the same everywhere; the same in London," she snapped.

"Perhaps; only in London you can avoid the society of the
money-grubbers, and find a congenial clime where the foul element does
not enter. You see, London isn't a town; it's a country, and there are
communities of kindred interests within its borders."

"How do you know?"

"Well, I can gather as much from my inquiries, and from what I read."

"A lot of use that is. I know it's fearfully expensive to live in
London."

"But one can make more money."

"I thought you despised money-grubbing."

"For the mere sake of the grubbing, yes. But where it costs more to live
there is usually more to live for, and more means of earning the
necessary cash."

"Money; you simply can't get away from it, yet you sneer at the wealthy
folk here. You only wish you had half of their complaint, as the thirsty
cabby said of the drunk who was supposed to be ill."

Flo laughed aridly at her simile, without looking her companion in the
face. Henry felt irritated by her as never before. But his teeth were
set. Both kept silence for a time.

"Of course you never think of me," said Flo at length, trailing her
sunshade among the pebbles.

"That's just what I do, though."

"How kind of you!"

The sneer froze Henry like a sudden frost.

"Men are such unselfish things, to be sure," she went on; the ice
thickening rapidly.

Henry had really thought a great deal about her, and not without some
misgivings. He had seen himself a successful worker in Fleet Street,
with a dainty house out Hampstead way--he did not know where that might
be, but he thought it was the literary quarter--and Flo looking her best
as mistress of that home, with many a notable personage for guest. But
he had also moments when he wondered if he were not a fool to bother his
head about her, and when she said, "How kind of you!" he was glad they
wer