pportunity of placing her in
unpleasant positions, whereby she might be, what he called, hardened.
Paul sighed to think of his mother's position as he folded up the
letter. She had a bad time with the truculent husband she had married.
"And I can't believe she became his wife of her own free will," thought
Paul; "probably the governor bullied her into it in his own sweet way."

However, there was nothing in the letter to explain Norman's faint. It
was certainly strange that the pawnbroker, from whom the brooch had been
originally purchased, should have demanded it back; and the excuse given
seems rather a weak one. However, Paul did not waste time in thinking
over this, but resolved to tell Aaron what his mother had said.

He had received two letters from Sylvia, mentioning, amongst other
things, that her father, now quite well, was asking after Paul, and
urging him to come and see him. "My father appears to have a fancy for
you," wrote Sylvia, "so if you are very nice--as nice as you can
be--perhaps he won't be very angry if you tell him we are engaged."
There was much more to the same effect, which Paul thought good advice,
and he intended to adopt the same. It was necessary that he should tell
Aaron of his love if things were to be conducted in a straightforward
and honorable manner. And Paul had no desire to conduct them otherwise.

Having made up his mind to see Aaron again, Paul bethought himself of
Grexon Hay. That gentleman had never appeared again at the Bloomsbury
garret, and had never even written. But Paul was anxious that Hay--whom
he regarded as a clever man-of-the-world--should see the old man, and,
as our trans-Atlantic cousins say, "size him up." Norman's manner and
queer life puzzled Paul not a little, and not being very worldly himself
he was anxious to have the advice of his old school friend, who seemed
desirous of doing him a good turn, witness his desire to buy the brooch
so that Paul might be supplied with money. So Beecot wrote to Grexon Hay
at his Camden Hill chamber and told him he intended to go to Gwynne
Street on a certain day at a certain time. To this Grexon responded by
saying that he was at Paul's service and would come especially as he
wanted to see Dulcinea of Gwynne Street.

Paul laughed at the phrase. "I suppose Grexon thinks I am very
Quixotic," he thought, "coming to London to tilt with the windmills of
the Press. But Don Quixote was wise in spite of his apparent madness,
and G