Humphrey; and, above all, to use his influence to
prevent injury befalling Stephen and Martha Lloyd.

His next letter was a harder one to write, for it was to Valentina Rea.
It was a struggle, but he did it; for the man was now fully roused in
spirit, and he told himself that if ever he was called upon to act as a
man of honour it was now. He told her, then, that he never loved her
more dearly than now; that he should always remember her words in the
letter he treasured up, but that he felt it would be like blighting her
young life to hold her to her promise. If, in the future, he could
claim her, he would; but he knew that father--soon, perhaps, mother--
would be against it, for he could at present see no hope in his future
career.

But all the same, he signed himself hers till death; sent his dear love
to "little Fin;" and then, having posted his letters, he felt better,
and went to seek out Frank Pratt.

"He won't turn out a fine weather friend, of that I'm sure," he said, as
he went up, the staircase in the Temple, to be seized by both hands as
soon as he entered, and have to submit to a couple of minutes' shaking.

"Why, Dick, old man, this does one good!" exclaimed Pratt. "Now, then,
a steak and stout, or a chop and Bass, two pipes, and a grand debauch at
night, eh?"

"What debauch?" said Richard, smiling.

"Front row of the pit, my boy. Absolute freedom; comfort of the stalls
without having to dress. Nobody waiting to seize your `overcoat, sir.'
Good view of the stage; and, when the curtain's down, time and
opportunity to pity the curled darlings of society, who stand, in
melancholy row, with their backs to the orchestra, fiddling their crush
hats, and staring up at the audience through eyeglasses that blind."

"And meet Flick and Vanleigh."

"Who cares?" said Pratt, forcing his friend into a well-worn easy chair,
and taking away hat and stick. "Isn't that a lovely chair, Dick? I've
worked that chair into that shape--moulded it, sir, into the form of my
figure, and worn off all its awkward corners. Pipe?--there you are.
'Bacco?--there you are. Whisky?--there you are. And there's a light.
Have a dressing-gown and slippers?"

"No, no--thanks," said Dick, laughing.

But his face twitched as, after filling and trying to light a pipe, he
laid it hastily down, wrung Pratt's hand, and then started up and walked
to the window, to stand gazing out at the dirty walls before him.

Before he had been t