to take a certain pride
in the determination with which he was bringing himself to
contemplate the sacrifice of so useful a friendship.

When they reached home there was barely time to dress for dinner,
and Charles had no opportunity for a _tete-a-tete_ discussion of the
situation with his mother that evening. And as he breakfasted early
next day and dined at the club, he had ample time in which to
determine that, for the present, he would avoid anything in the
shape of a family conference, and would content himself with keeping
his eye on the _mauvais sujet_.

CHAPTER VIII

As soon as Lightmark and Rainham were left alone in the twilight of
the studio, the former flung himself into a chair with a sigh of
relief, and devoted himself to rolling and lighting a cigarette.
Rainham picked up his hat, consulted his watch, with a preoccupation
of mind which prevented him from noticing what the time was,
and, refusing the proffered tobacco-pouch and the suggested
whisky-and-soda, seemed about to go. Then he stopped, with his back
turned towards his host and a pretence of examining a sketch.

"I'm sorry I made such an ass of myself about that study--that girl,
you know," he said presently. "The fact is, I saw her the other day,
and the coincidence was rather startling."

Lightmark blew a light cloud of smoke from his lips before he spoke.

"Oh, it doesn't matter in the least, old man. You didn't implicate
me, as it happened, though I'm afraid you got yourself into rather
hot water. A poor devil of a painter must have models, and it's
recognised, but men of business----! It's quite another thing.
There's no possible connection between girls and dry docks." Then he
added lightly, "Where are you going to dine to-night? Let's go to
one of our Leicester Square haunts, or shall we get into a hansom
and drive to Richmond? I've sold old Quain a picture, and I feel
extravagantly inclined. What do you say? Under which _chef_? Speak, or
let's toss up."

Rainham appeared to consider for a moment; then he sat down again.

"About that girl," he said; "I suppose you _do_ remember something
about her? She must have been very pretty when you painted her,
though she's nothing wonderful now, poor thing! I don't want to pump
you, Dick, but she seems to have been pretty badly treated, and I
want to see if I can't help her."

"Help her!" with a shrug. "For goodness' sake tell me: is it Don
Quixote or Don Lothario that you are playin