"We are all mad, more or less, Talbot," rejoined Mr. Clendon, with the

flicker of a grim smile on his thin lips. "But this young girl--I have

taken her misery to heart. If you had seen her as I have seen her--but

you haven't, and I have to try to impress her case on you, enlist your

sympathies, as well as I can. She is a lady, not by birth, perhaps, but

by instinct and training. She has been well educated. That's been

against her, of course. It always is with persons in her position;

anyway, it makes her lot a still harder one."

"Well, well!" broke in the Marquess. "You want me to give her money. Of

course, you can have what you want, any sum; you have but to ask--Ask!

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it is all yours; you have but to demand!--No, no, I don't mean to be

angry, brutal; but, surely, you can understand what I am feeling. How

much do you want?"

"Nothing," said Mr. Clendon, with another flickering smile. "My dear

Talbot, you don't understand. But I don't blame you; how should you? All

the same, we poor people have our little pride; the girl of whom I

speak--well, I found her starving in her miserable little room, because

she was too proud to descend a flight of steps to mine, to ask for the

bread for which she was dying."

The Marquess stared. "Is it possible that such cases can exist?"

"Oh, yes, my dear Talbot," responded Mr. Clendon, with grim irony.

"There are more persons die of starvation in London every day than the

Boards of Guardians wot of. The doctor calls them 'heart-failure' in his

certificate; and he is quite accurate. But let me tell you what I want

you to do. This girl has been a secretary; she has been advertising for

some similar post; any post, indeed."

He took out the paper and pointed to the advertisement. The Marquess

took the paper, passing his hand over his eyes, as if he were dazed, and

read the few lines which had cost Celia her last penny.

"Got it?" asked Mr. Clendon. "Well, now, I want you to write an answer

to it, Talbot, and offer her a situation."

Lord Sutcombe dropped into his chair, his head sunk in his hands.

"What kind of situation?" he asked, looking up. "Of course, I'll do

it--I feel, confused. Little wonder!--What kind of situation? I suppose

you have planned it all? I am trying to follow you, to interest myself;

but I can only think of you!"




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