ly.
"Do you know, I believe that if she found out that you were not----"

"Not what?" demanded Benson, turning upon him fiercely, "Not what?"

"Everything that you are," returned his cousin, with a grin that belied
his words, "I believe she'd drop you."

"Talk about something else," said Benson, slowly; "your pleasantries are
not always in the best taste."

Wilfred Carr rose and taking a cue from the rack, bent over the board and
practiced one or two favourite shots. "The only other subject I can talk
about just at present is my own financial affairs," he said slowly, as he
walked round the table.

"Talk about something else," said Benson again, bluntly.

"And the two things are connected," said Carr, and dropping his cue he
half sat on the table and eyed his cousin.

There was a long silence. Benson pitched the end of his cigar out of the
window, and leaning back closed his eyes.

"Do you follow me?" inquired Carr at length.

Benson opened his eyes and nodded at the window.

"Do you want to follow my cigar?" he demanded.

"I should prefer to depart by the usual way for your sake," returned the
other, unabashed. "If I left by the window all sorts of questions would
be asked, and you know what a talkative chap I am."

"So long as you don't talk about my affairs," returned the other,
restraining himself by an obvious effort, "you can talk yourself hoarse."

"I'm in a mess," said Carr, slowly, "a devil of a mess. If I don't raise
fifteen hundred by this day fortnight, I may be getting my board and
lodging free."

"Would that be any change?" questioned Benson.

"The quality would," retorted the other. "The address also would not be
good. Seriously, Jem, will you let me have the fifteen hundred?"

"No," said the other, simply.

Carr went white. "It's to save me from ruin," he said, thickly.

"I've helped you till I'm tired," said Benson, turning and regarding him,
"and it is all to no good. If you've got into a mess, get out of it.
You should not be so fond of giving autographs away."

"It's foolish, I admit," said Carr, deliberately. "I won't do so any
more. By the way, I've got some to sell. You needn't sneer. They're
not my own."

"Whose are they?" inquired the other.

"Yours."

Benson got up from his chair and crossed over to him. "What is this?"
he asked, quietly. "Blackmail?"

"Call it what you like," said Carr. "I've got some letters for sale,
price fifteen hundred. And