e, smiling
despite the heavy weight of disappointment in his heart. It was
pitiable to see the old man's obvious feeling of relief in the absence
of the man who was exercising such boundless influence over him.

"But have you money, Luke?" he asked.

"Not overmuch, sir, but enough."

"The fifteen thousand pounds your father left you?"

"Yes. And that's about all."

"And the fifteen thousand pounds from your uncle Arthur?"

"I don't know about that, sir. I think that should go back to Uncle
Arthur's son."

"Nonsense, nonsense!" retorted Lord Radclyffe querulously. "I've
talked to Dobson about that. Your uncle Arthur left that money to
you--and not to his son. He had his own reasons for doing this. Dobson
thinks so too."

"It is very kind of Mr. Dobson to trouble about my affairs but----"

"The money was left to you," persisted the old man, "and to Jim and
Edie and Frank."

"They will do whatever they like with their share, but I could not
touch a penny of Uncle Arthur's money."

"What will you do?"

"I don't know yet, uncle. I have only had a month in which to think of
so much--and there was the new flat to see to."

Lord Radclyffe rose and shuffled toward Luke. He dropped his voice,
lest the library walls had ears.

"I'll not forget you, Luke--presently--when I am gone--and that won't
be long--I'll provide for you--my will----"

"Don't, Uncle Rad, for God's sake," and the cry was wrung from a heart
overburdened with pity and with shame.

And without waiting to take more affectionate leave, Luke hurried from
the room.

CHAPTER X

LIFE MUST GO ON JUST THE SAME

They met at dances and at musical At Homes, for the world wagged just
as it had always done, and here--don't you think?--lies the tragedy of
the commonplace. Luke and Louisa, with the whole aspect of life
changed for them, with a problem to face of which hitherto they had no
conception, and the solution of which meant a probing of soul and
heart and mind--Luke and Louisa had to see the world pass them by the
same as heretofore, with laughter and with tears, with the weariness
of pleasure, and the burdens of disappointment.

The world stared at them--curious and almost interested--searching
wounds that had only just begun to ache, since indifferent hands had
dared to touch them. And convention said: "Thou shalt not seem to
suffer; thou shalt pass by serene and unmoved; thou shalt dance and
sing and parade in park or ball room; tho