iled.

"It's most frightfully good of you...."

"Rubbish, rubbish." Lord Evelyn testily waved his words aside. "'Tisn't
for your sake. It's for mine. I want your company.... My good boy,
haven't you ever guessed, all these years, that I rather like your
company? That was why I was so angry when you and your precious brother
made a fool of me long ago. It hurt, because I liked you, Peter
Margerison. That was why I couldn't forgive you. Demme! I don't think
I've forgiven you yet, nor ever shall. That is why I came and insulted
you so badly one day as you remember. That's why I've such a soft place
for Lucy, who's got your laugh and your voice and your tricks of talk,
and looks at me with your white face. That's why I wasn't going to let
her and you make young fools of yourselves together. That, I suppose,
is why I know all the time what you're feeling; why I knew you were in
hell all last summer; why I saw you, though I'm such a blinde bat now,
last night, when neither Denis nor Lucy did. And that's why I want
you and your boy to come and keep me company now, till the end."

Peter put out his hand and took Lord Evelyn's.

"I don't know what I can say to thank you. I do appreciate it, you know,
more than anything that's ever happened to me before. I can't think how
you can be so awfully nice to me...."

"Enough, enough," said Lord Evelyn. "Will you or won't you? Yes or no?"

Peter at that gave his answer quickly.

"No. I can't, you know."

Lord Evelyn turned on him sharply.

"You _won't_? The devil take it!"

"It's like this," said Peter, disturbed and apologetic, "we don't want to
lead what's called respectable lives, Thomas and I. We don't want to be
well-off--to live with well-off people. We--we can't, d'you see. It's not
the way we're made. We don't belong. We're meant just to drift about the
bottom, like this, and pick up a living anyhow."

"The boy's a fool," remarked Lord Evelyn, throwing back his head and
staring at the roof.

Peter, who hated to wound, went on, "If we could share the life of any
rich person, it would be you."

"Good Lord, I'm not rich. Wish I were. Rich!"

"Oh, but you are, you know. You're what _we_ mean by rich.... And it's
not only that. There's Denis and Lucy too. We've parted ways, and I do
think it's best we shouldn't meet much. What's the good of beginning
again to want things one can't have? I might, you know; and it would
hurt. I don't now. I've given it all up. I don't w