"Because you made me laugh," replied Godfrey, "whereby I lost at least
eighteenpennyworth of information."

"A laugh is worth eighteenpence," suggested Arthur.

"That depends upon how many eighteenpences one possesses. You may have
lots, some people are short of them."

"Quite true. I never looked at it in that way before. I am obliged to
you for putting it so plainly," said Arthur with his charming smile.

Such was the beginning of the acquaintance of these two, and in some
cases might have been its end. But with them it was not so. Arthur
conceived a sincere admiration for Godfrey who could speak like this to
a stranger, and at Scoones' and as much as possible outside, haunted
him like a shadow. Soon it was a regular thing for Godfrey to go to
dine at the old Georgian house in Queen Anne's Gate upon Sunday
evenings, where he became popular with the rather magnificent
early-Victorian aunt who thought that he exercised a good influence
upon her nephew. Sometimes, too, Arthur would accompany Godfrey to
Hampstead and sit smoking and making furtive caricatures of him and
Mrs. Parsons, while he worked and she beamed admiration. The occupation
sounds dull, but somehow Arthur did not find it so; he said that it
rested his overwrought brain.

"Look here, old fellow," said Godfrey at length, "have you any
intention of passing that examination of yours?"

"In the interests of the Diplomatic Service and of the country I think
not," replied Arthur reflectively. "I feel that it is a case where true
altruism becomes a duty."

"Then what do you mean to do with yourself?"

"Don't know. Live on my money, I suppose, and on that of my respected
aunt after her lamented decease which, although I see no signs of it,
she tells me she considers imminent."

"I don't wonder, Arthur, with you hanging about the house. You ought to
be ashamed of yourself. A man is made to work his way through the
world, not to idle."

"Like a beetle boring through wood, not like a butterfly flitting over
flowers; that's what you mean, isn't it? Well, butterflies are nicer
than beetles, and some of us like flowers better than dead wood. But, I
say, old chap, do you mean it?"

"I do, and so does your aunt."

"Let us waive my aunt. Like the poor she is always with us, and I,
alas! am well acquainted with her views, which are those of a past
epoch. But I am not obstinate; tell me what to do and I'll do
it--anything except enter the Diplomatic Service, t