don't want you. I should set about and get some work to do,
cut all those rotten people you go about with, and behave decently to
strangers when you meet them. That's all. Good night."

And Christopher was gone.

Breton stood there, for a moment, with the tide of his misery full upon
him. Then he turned down Oxford Street and drove his way through the
crowds of people who were coming up towards the Circus. He was alone,
utterly alone in all the world. Everyone else had a home to go to, he
alone had nowhere.

Only a few weeks ago he had come back to England, with money enough to
keep him alive and a fine burning passion of revenge. That family of his
should lament the day of his birth, that old woman should be down on her
knees, begging his mercy. Now how cold and wasted was that revenge! What
a fool was he wincing at the ill-manners of a stranger, quarrelling with
the best friend man ever had.

How evilly could Life desert a man and kill him with loneliness.

And then his mood changed; if Christopher and the rest intended to cast
him off, let them. There were his old friends--men and women who had
been ostracized by the world as he had been--they would know how to
treat him.

He turned into the silence and peace of Saxton Square and there met Miss
Rand, who was also walking home. The statue was wrapped in blue mist,
the trees were fading into grey and the evening star seemed to have
taken Saxton Square under its special protection.

"Good evening, Miss Rand."

"Good evening, Mr. Breton."

"Isn't it a lovely evening?"

"Yes. But _hasn't_ it been hot?"

Miss Rand did not look as though she could ever, under any possible
circumstances, be hot, so neat and cool was she, but she said yes it had
been.

"Isn't it odd the way that as soon as it's fine people begin to complain
just as they do when it's wet?"

"It gives them something to talk about--just as it's giving us something
now," said Miss Rand, laughing.

Breton looked at her and liked her. She seemed so strong and wise and
safe. She would surely always give one the kind of sensible
encouragement that one needed. She would be a good person in whom to
confide.

They were on the top doorstep now.

"No. I've got a key." He let her pass him.

They stood for a moment in the hall together.

He spoke, as he always did, on the instant's inspiration:

"Miss Rand?"

"Yes."

"I'm alone such a lot--in my evenings I mean. I wonder--might I come
down some