r the song. What you have to
remember, my dear sir, if you wish to achieve success, is that music,
if it is to sell, must appeal to the average amateur young person. The
average amateur young person is the main prop of music in this country."

Lancelot snatched up his song and tied the strings of his portfolio
very tightly, as if he were clenching his lips.

"If I stay here any longer I shall swear," he said: "Good afternoon."

He went out with a fire at his heart that made him insensitive to the
frost without. He walked a mile out of his way mechanically, then,
perceiving his stupidity, avenged it by jumping into a hansom. He
dared not think how low his funds were running. When he got home he
forgot to have his tea, crouching in dumb misery in his easy-chair,
while the coals in the grate faded like the sunset from red to grey,
and the dusk of twilight deepened into the gloom of night, relieved
only by a gleam from the street-lamp.

The noise of the door opening made him look up.

"Beg pardon, sir, I didn't yer ye come in."

It was Mary Ann's timid accents. Lancelot's head drooped again on his
breast. He did not answer.

"You've bin and let your fire go out, sir."

"Don't bother!" he grumbled. He felt a morbid satisfaction in this
aggravation of discomfort, almost symbolic as it was of his sunk
fortunes.

"Oh, but it'll freeze 'ard to-night, sir. Let me make it up." Taking
his sullen silence for consent, she ran downstairs and reappeared with
some sticks. Soon there were signs of life, which Mary Ann assiduously
encouraged by blowing at the embers with her mouth. Lancelot looked on
in dull apathy, but as the fire rekindled and the little flames leapt
up and made Mary Ann's flushed face the one spot of colour and warmth
in the cold, dark room, Lancelot's torpidity vanished suddenly. The
sensuous fascination seized him afresh, and ere he was aware of it he
was lifting the pretty face by the chin.

"I'm so sorry to be so troublesome, Mary Ann. There, you shall give me
a kiss to show you bear no malice."

The warm lips obediently met his, and for a moment Lancelot forgot his
worries while he held her soft cheek against his.

This time the shock of returning recollection was not so violent as
before. He sat up in his chair, but his right arm still twined
negligently round her neck, the fingers patting the warm face. "A
fellow must have something to divert his mind," he thought, "or he'd go
mad.