r,
and it was no good struggling.

"Well, good-night, Edith," he said at last, taking up his hat. "This'll
last for a bit--but not very long, I warn you--prices being what they
are. Oh, by the way, my name just now is Wilson--make a note of it!"

"What's that for?" she said disdainfully.

"Some Canadian creditors of mine got wind of me--worse luck. I had to
change my quarters, and drop the old name--for a bit. However--what's
in a name?" He laughed, and held out his hand.

"Going to shake hands, Edie? You used to be awfully fond of me, when you
were small."

She stood, apparently unmoved, her hands hanging. The pathetic note had
been tried on her too often.

"Good-night, Roger. Nannie will show you out."

The door closed on him, and Lady Winton dropped on a sofa by the fire,
her face showing white and middle-aged in the firelight. She was just
an ordinary woman, only with a stronger will than most; and as an
ordinary woman, amid all her anger and fear, she was not wholly proof
against such a spectacle as that now presented by her once favourite
brother. It was not his words that affected her--but a hundred little
personal facts which every time she saw him burnt a little more deeply
into her consciousness the irreparableness of his personal ruin--physical
and moral. Idleness, drink, disease--the loss of shame, of self-respect,
of manners--the sense of something vital gone for ever--all these fatal
things stared out upon her, from his slippery emaciated face, his
borrowed clothes, his bullying voice--the scent on him of the mews in
which he lived!

She covered her face with her hands and cried a little. She could
remember when he was the darling and pride of the family--especially of
his father. How had it happened? He had said to her once, "There must
have been a black drop somewhere in our forbears, Edie. It has reappeared
in me. We are none of us responsible, my dear, for our precious selves. I
may be a sinner and a loafer--but that benevolent Almighty of yours made
me."

That was wicked stuff, of course; but there had been a twist in him from
the beginning. Had _she_ done her best for him? There were times when her
conscience pricked her.

The clock struck seven. The sound brought her to her feet. She must go
and dress. Richard would be home directly, and they were dining out, to
meet a distinguished General, in London for a few days' leave from the
front. Dick must, of course, know nothing of Roger's vi