ght you might be
able to arrange for a meeting between us. My idea is this: I shall tell
him that the girl can make herself useful in the house, and that I wish
to pay her for her services. The money would of course go to him, and
he might use it to get help in his home. Bessie, the child, has
explained to me all the difficulties in the way of her remaining with
me; they are heightened by her father's character, as you can
understand. Now do you think he would see me? He might come to my
hotel, or he might come here, or if he allows me, I would go to him.'

'I will arrange it, somehow. Trust me, I will arrange it.'

'You should have said that with a wave of the hand, as omnipotent
people do on the stage.'

He laughed.

'There is no feeling miserable with you. Have you not something of that
mesmeric power which draws one back into health under a touch?'

'Perhaps. A little. My children sometimes show astonishing improvement,
when they get fond of me.'

They talked of various things, but no mention was made of the
Newthorpes by either.

'Is Paula back yet?' Mrs. Ormonde asked.

'I have no idea. I am not likely ever to see her again.'

'Oh, yes! When you come back from New Zealand. I shall go and see the
Tyrrells this afternoon, I think. I have to dine with friends at
Hampstead. When can I have the result of your inquiries?'

'I will come to you to-morrow morning.'

'At ten, please. I have a great deal to get into the day; and you
yourself must be off by noon.'

'By noon I shall be.'

This visit had been happily timed. Sympathy was essential to Egremont
as often as he suffered from the caprices of his temperament, and in
grave trouble it was a danger for him to be left companionless. He was
highly nervous, and the tumult of his imagination affected his bodily
state in a degree uncommon in men, though often seen in delicately
organised women. When Mrs. Ormonde left him he felt relieved in mind,
but physically so brought down that he stretched himself upon the sofa.
He remained there for more than an hour.

How much better, he was saying to himself, not to have told Mrs.
Ormonde I That would have been a greater folly than anything yet. No
irreparable harm was as yet done; to confess a mere state of mind would
have been to fill his friend with fears wholly groundless, and to fix a
lasting torture in his own memory. It would have been to render
impossible any future work in Lambeth. Yet upon the continuance o