ven! Really?"

"Really. Here, Beethoven!"

The spaniel shook himself, and perked his wee nose up wistfully towards
Lancelot's face.

Peter laughed, with a little catch in his voice. He didn't know whether
he was pleased, or touched, or angry.

"You started to tell me about those twenty thousand shillings," he said.

"Didn't I tell you? On the expectations of my triumph, I lived
extravagantly, like a fool, joined a club, and took up my quarters there.
When I began to realise the struggle that lay before me, I took chambers;
then I took rooms; now I'm in lodgings. The more I realised it, the less
rent I paid. I only go to the club for my letters now. I won't have
them come here. I'm living incognito."

"That's taking fame by the forelock, indeed! Then by what name must I
ask for you next time? For I'm not to be shaken off."

"Lancelot."

"Lancelot what?"

"Only Lancelot! Mr. Lancelot."

"Why, that's like your Mary Ann!"

"So it is!" he laughed, more bitterly than cordially; "it never struck me
before. Yes, we are a pair."

"How did you stumble on this place?"

"I didn't stumble. Deliberate, intelligent selection. You see, it's the
next best thing to Piccadilly. You just cross Waterloo Bridge, and there
you are at the centre, five minutes from all the clubs. The natives have
not yet risen to the idea."

"You mean the rent," laughed Peter. "You're as canny and careful as a
Scotch professor. I think it's simply grand the way you've beaten out
those shillings, in defiance of your natural instincts. I should have
melted them years ago. I believe you _have_ got some musical genius,
after all."

"You overrate my abilities," said Lancelot, with the whimsical expression
that sometimes flashed across his face even in his most unamiable
moments. "You must deduct the Thalers I made in exhibitions. As for
living in cheap lodgings, I am not at all certain it's an economy, for
every now and again it occurs to you that you are saving an awful lot,
and you take a hansom on the strength of it."

"Well, I haven't torn up that cheque yet----"

"Peter!" said Lancelot, his flash of gaiety dying away, "I tell you these
things as a friend, not as a beggar. If you look upon me as the second,
I cease to be the first."

"But, man, I owe you the money; and if it will enable you to hold out a
little longer--why, in heaven's name, shouldn't you----?"

"You don't owe me the money at all; I made no bargain