ulty, Maurice found himself to rights in his
role of mentor, and began to flatter himself that he would ultimately
make of Krafft a decent member of society. As it was, he soon induced
his friend to study in a more methodical way; they practised for the
same number of hours in the forenoon, and met in the afternoon; and
Krafft only sometimes broke through this arrangement, by appearing in
the BRAUSTRASSE early in the morning, and, despite remonstrance,
throwing himself on the sofa, and remaining there, while Maurice
practised. The latter ended by growing accustomed to this whim as to
several other things that had jarred on him--such as Krafft's love for
a dirty jest--and overlooked or forgave them. At first embarrassed by
the mushroom growth of a friendship he had not invited, he soon grew
genuinely attached to Krafft, and missed him when he was absent from
him.

Avery Hill could hardly be termed third in the alliance; Maurice's
advent had thrust her into the background, where she kept watch over
their doings with her cold, disdainful eye. Maurice was not clear how
she regarded his intrusion. Sometimes, particularly when she saw the
improvement in Heinrich's way of life, she seemed to tolerate his
presence gladly; at others again, her jealous aversion to him was too
open to be overlooked. The jealousy was natural; he was an interloper,
and Heinz neglected her shamefully for him; but there was something
else behind it, another feeling, which Maurice could not make out. He
by no means understood the relationship that existed between his friend
and this girl of the stone-grey eyes and stern, red lips. The two lived
almost door by door, went in and out of each other's rooms at all
hours, and yet, he had never heard them exchange an affectionate word,
or seen a mark of endearment pass between them. Avery's attachment--if
such it could be called--was noticeable only in the many small ways in
which she cared for Krafft's comfort; her manner with him was
invariably severe and distant, with the exception of those occasions
when a seeming trifle raised in her a burst of the dull, passionate
anger, beneath which Krafft shrank. Maurice believed that his friend
would be happier away from her; in spite of her fresh colouring, he,
Maurice, found her wanting in attraction, nothing that a woman ought to
be. But her name was rarely mentioned between them; Krafft was, as a
rule, reticent concerning her, and when he did speak of her, it wa