ed to you? You're becoming as eccentric as me."
Maurice looked at him rather jealously. "And, I say, do you really want
me to come with you to King's Cross to-morrow afternoon?"

Michael nodded.

"After you've helped to gather together this room, you deserve to see
the person we've done it for."

"Yes, but look here. Who's going to stay in the flat with her? You can't
leave her alone until you're married. As you told me the story, it
sounded very romantic; but if she's going to be your wife, you've got to
guard her reputation."

Michael had never given Maurice more than a slight elaboration of the
tale which had served for Stella; and he thought how much more romantic
Maurice would consider the affair if he knew the whole truth. He felt
inclined to tell him, but he doubted his ability to keep it to himself.

"I thought of getting hold of some elderly woman," he said.

"That's all very well, but you ought to have been doing it all this
time."

"You don't know anybody?"

"I? Great scott, no!"

They were walking toward Chelsea, and presently Maurice had to leave him
for an appointment.

"To-morrow afternoon then at King's Cross," he said, and jumped on an
omnibus.

Michael walked along in a quandary. Whom on earth could he get to stay
with Lily? Would it not be better to marry at once? But that would
involve breaking his promise to Stella. If he asked Mrs. Gainsborough,
it would mean Sylvia knowing where Lily was. If, on the other hand, he
should employ a strange woman, Lily might dislike her. Could he ask Mrs.
Ross to come up to town? No, of course, that was absurd. It looked as if
he would have to ask Mrs. Gainsborough. Or why not ask Sylvia herself?
In that case, why establish Lily at Ararat House before they were
married? This marriage had seemed so very easy an achievement; but
slowly it was turning into an insoluble complex. He might sound Sylvia
upon her attitude. It would enormously simplify everything if she would
consent; and if she consented she would, he believed, play fair with
him. The longer Michael thought about it, the more it seemed the safest
course to call in Sylvia's aid. He was almost hailing a hansom to go to
Tinderbox Lane, when he realized how foolish it would be not to try to
sever Lily completely from the life she had been leading in Sylvia's
company. Not even ought he to expose her to the beaming laxity of Mrs.
Gainsborough.

Michael had reached Notting Hill Gate, and, still pond