made a man of him by restoring
his self-respect and giving him a fresh chance--by trusting him, in
fact. It did well enough for a time, but then he broke out worse than
ever. Then, from what Tom told me, Curzon stepped in, saved him from
suicide, and saved him from himself; and has given him, apparently,
some principle to live by that will turn him into a fine character
yet--at any rate, I get excellent accounts of him."

"I did not know he had tried to kill himself," said May; "perhaps that
is what has sobered poor Rose Lancaster so effectually. She told me
the other day that she would marry no one but Tom. By the way, what
brought you to London?"

"Mixed motives. Sheer dulness for one thing."

"You once aired a theory that only stupid people could be dull."

"Then, I suppose, I have grown stupid; I have not enough to occupy me,
for one thing. If I could carry out all my whims I could be busy
enough; but I have had to abandon that scheme for rebuilding a good
many of my cottages from want of money, and that same want stands
between me and my one ambition: a seat in Parliament. I might have had
a chance of a vacancy in the autumn. By the way, as you intend to
throw me over, I trust that amongst your numerous friends you will find
me another tenant for the Court."

"I don't understand what you are talking of! Who is going to throw you
over?"

"Your mother has written to say that she wishes to leave at Michaelmas.
Her letter was my excuse for calling."

May did not answer for a minute; she was busily pondering what her
mother's reason could have been for arriving at this decision without
consulting her. It might be that the relations between themselves and
the Blands being somewhat strained, she had thought it wise to go
somewhere else, or--and here May's heart quickened its beating--it
might be that she feared a rival in Paul Lessing.

"I hope you are sorry to lose us," she said.

"Am I to tell the conventional falsehood or the truth?" Paul asked.

"The truth, of course; we have not studied conventionality much, have
we?"

"Then I am unfeignedly glad," said Paul, deliberately.

May had turned rather white. "You don't mince matters certainly."

"No, I don't; but I prefer solitude to living perpetually within sight
of unattainable happiness. Our friendship is destroyed, you remember;
you admitted as much once. I cannot pretend that you are an ordinary
acquaintance, and, therefore, to have you