e,
you won't have to turn your Muse on to the streets to get your living.
But a trade's better than a profession; and a craft's better than a
trade. It doesn't monopolize the higher centres. I certainly had the
impression that you had been in trade."

Rickman wondered who could have given it to him. Miss Gurney's friend,
he supposed. But who was Miss Gurney's friend? A hope came to him
that made his heart stand still. But he answered calmly.

"I was. I worked for two years in a second-hand bookshop as a
bibliographical expert; and before that I stood behind the counter
most of my time."

"Why did you leave it? You weren't ashamed of your trade?"

"Not of my trade, but of the way I had to follow it. I'm not ashamed
of working for Mr. Horace Jewdwine."

He brought the name in awkwardly. In bringing it in at all he had some
vague hope that it might lead Fielding to disclose the identity of the
friend. Horace Jewdwine was a link; if his name were familiar to
Fielding there would be no proof perhaps, but a very strong
presumption that what he hoped was true.

"He is a friend of yours?"

"Yes." His hope leapt high; but Fielding dashed it to the ground.

"I never heard of him. I see," he said, "you've got a conscience. Have
you also got a wife?"

"Not yet--but--"

"Good. So young a man as you cannot afford to keep _both_. I am so old
that I may be pardoned if I give you some advice. But why should I?
You won't take it."

"I should like to hear it all the same, sir."

"Well, well, it's cheap enough. Whatever you do, don't fritter
yourself away upon the sort of women it may be your misfortune to have
met."

It was beautifully done, this first intimation of his consciousness of
any difference between them; between Rickman who had glorified a
variety actress, and Walter Fielding whose Muse had "always had the
manners of an English gentlewoman." And to Rickman's heart, amid vivid
images of Poppies and Flossies, the memory of Lucia Harden stirred
like a dividing sword.

"That is my advice," said Fielding. "But you will not take it."

"These things," said Rickman, "are not always in our power."

In the silence which followed he put the question that was burning in
him.

"May I ask who the friend was who told Miss Gurney about me?"

"You may ask Miss Gurney; but I do not think she'll tell you. It seems
to be a secret, and Miss Gurney, strange to say, is a young woman who
can keep a secret."

He led the way t