black. It was in a stupor of
despair that he heard her say, "Wait a bit here, till I've got rid of
these people."

He stumbled away and stood on the bearskin rug before the fireplace,
while she joined the lingering group by the door. The two or three
minutes were an eternity of agony to Paul. He had lost his great game.

Miss Winwood shut the door and came swiftly to him and laid her hand on
his arm. Paul hung his head and looked into the fire. "My poor boy!"
she said very tenderly. "What are you going to do with yourself?"

If it had not been for the diabolical irony of the mishap he would have
answered with his gay flourish. But now he could not so answer. Boyish,
hateful tears stood in his eyes and, in spite of anguished effort of
will, threatened to fall. He continued to look into the fire, so that
she should not see them. "I shall go on as I always have done," he said
as stoutly as he could.

"Your prospects are not very bright, I fear."

"I shall keep my head above water," said Paul. "Oh, please don't!" he
cried, shivering. "You have been so good to me. I can't bear you to
have seen that thing. I can't stand it."

"My dear boy," she said, coming a little nearer, "I don't think the
worse of you for that. On the contrary, I admire your pluck and your
brave attitude towards life. Indeed I do. I respect you for it. Do you
remember the old Italian story of Ser Federigo and his falcon? How he
hid his poverty like a knightly gentleman? You see what I mean, don't
you? You mustn't be angry with me!"

Her words were Gilead balm of instantaneous healing.

"Angry?"

His voice quavered. In a revulsion of emotion he turned blindly, seized
her hand and kissed it. It was all he could do.

"If I have found it out--not just now," she quickly interjected, seeing
him wince, "but long ago--it was not your fault. You've made a gallant
gentleman's show to the end--until I come, in a perfectly brutal way,
and try to upset it. Tell me--I'm old enough to be your mother, and you
must know by this time that I'm your friend--have you any resources at
all--beyond--?" She made ever so slight a motion of her hand toward the
hidden pawn ticket.

"No," said Paul, with his sure tact and swiftly working imagination. "I
had just come to an end of them. It's a silly story of losses and
what-not--I needn't bother you with it. I thought I would walk to
London, with the traditional half-crown in my pocket"--he flashed a
wistful smile--"and