a helping hand, a bit of himself, a nod of fellowship
to any fellow-being irrespective of a claim, merely because he happened
to be down, was sentimental nonsense! The line must be drawn! But in
the muttering of this conclusion he experienced a twinge of honesty.
"Humbug! You don't want to part with your money, that's all!"

So, sitting down in shirt-sleeves at his writing table, he penned the
following on paper stamped with the Holm Oaks address and crest:
MY DEAR FERRAND,

I am sorry you are having such a bad spell. You seem to be dead out of
luck. I hope by the time you get this things will have changed for the
better. I should very much like to see you again and have a talk, but
shall be away for some time longer, and doubt even when I get back
whether I should be able to run down and look you up. Keep me 'au
courant' as to your movements. I enclose a cheque.

Yours sincerely,

RICHARD SHELTON.

Before he had written out the cheque, a moth fluttering round the candle
distracted his attention, and by the time he had caught and put it out he
had forgotten that the cheque was not enclosed. The letter, removed with
his clothes before he was awake, was posted in an empty state.

One morning a week later he was sitting in the smoking-room in the
company of the gentleman called Mabbey, who was telling him how many
grouse he had deprived of life on August 12 last year, and how many he
intended to deprive of life on August 12 this year, when the door was
opened, and the butler entered, carrying his head as though it held some
fatal secret.

"A young man is asking for you, sir," he said to Shelton, bending down
discreetly; "I don't know if you would wish to see him, sir."

"A young man!" repeated Shelton; "what sort of a young man?"

"I should say a sort of foreigner, sir," apologetically replied the
butler. "He's wearing a frock-coat, but he looks as if he had been
walking a good deal."

Shelton rose with haste; the description sounded to him ominous.

"Where is he?"

"I put him in the young ladies' little room, sir."

"All right," said Shelton; "I 'll come and see him. Now, what the
deuce!" he thought, running down the stairs.

It was with a queer commingling of pleasure and vexation that he entered
the little chamber sacred to the birds, beasts, racquets, golf-clubs, and
general young ladies' litter. Ferrand was standing underneath the cage
of