t he have his chance of being happy in a reasonable way? I
shouldn't wonder if she took him."

"No more should I."

"Upon my soul, I believe it's a duty! I say, Morewood, do you think he'd
see it for himself from the picture?"

"Of course he would. No one could help it."

"Will you let him see it?"

Morewood took a turn or two up and down, tugging his beard. The issue
was doubtful. A certain auditor of the conversation, perceiving this,
hastily transferred himself from one interlocutor to the other.

"I'll tell you what I'll do: I'll let him see it if Lane agrees. I'll
leave it to Lane."

"Rather rough on Lane, isn't it?"

"A little strong emotion of any kind won't do Lane any harm."

"Perhaps not. We will train our young friend's mind to cope with moral
problems. He'll never get on in the world nowadays unless he can do
that. It's now part of a gentleman's--still more of a
lady's--education."

Eugene was clearly wanted. By some agency, into which it is needless to
inquire, though we may have suspicions, at that moment Eugene strolled
into the billiard-room.

"We have a little question to submit to you, my dear fellow," said Ayre
blandly.

Eugene looked at him suspiciously. He had been a good deal worried the
last few days, and had a dim idea that he deserved it, which deprived
him of the sense of unmerited suffering--a most valuable consolation in
time of trouble.

"It's about Stafford. You remember the head of him Morewood did, and the
conclusion we drew from it--or, rather, it forced upon us?"

Eugene nodded, instinctively assuming his most nonchalant air.

"We think he's a bad case. What think you?"

"I agree--at least, I suppose I do. I haven't thought much about it."

Ayre thought the indifference overdone, but he took no notice of it.

"We are inclined to think he ought to be shown that picture. I am clear
about it; Morewood doubts. And we are going to refer it to you."

"You'd better leave me out."

"Not at all. You're a friend of his, known him all your life, and
you'll know best what will be for his good."

"If you insist on asking me, I think you had better let it alone."

"Wait a minute. Why do you say that?"

"Because it will be a shock to him."

"No doubt, at first. He's got some silly notion in his head about not
marrying, and about its being sinful to fall in love, and all, that."

"It won't make him happier to be refused."

Ayre leant forward in his chair, and said: "How