"I don't know. I don't know what to say. The fact is, I don't know where I shall have to live yet." "Have to live?" "Yes, have to live. I can't settle anything. I--Oh, damn it, I don't know! Leave me alone!" He sat staring savagely at the floor, with his head in his hands. "Brand, my friend," remarked Philip, puffing at his pipe, "you and I have been acquainted for a considerable time now, haven't we?" Brand nodded, and Philip continued:-- "I'm going to assume the privilege of an old friend, and enquire into your private affairs." "Fat lot of information you'll get," was the gracious reply. "Very well, then," said Philip cheerfully. "I won't enquire: I'll assume. Having assumed that everything I meant to ask about is as I think it is, I'll tell you something. It's this: you are a pretty good chap." Brand's gloomy eyes turned upon Philip suspiciously. "What do you mean?" he snarled. "I mean this. You have done a pretty fine thing. If the information interests you, I may tell you that you have taught me a lesson; but that's beside the point. Last Friday you were in a comfortable berth, doing well, and rising rapidly. To-day you are a bath-steward, without any status or prospects. Why?" "Because I'm a blasted fool," replied Brand. "No, I don't think so," continued Philip, "I prefer to look at it differently. You have sacrificed everything, and staked your whole future--on what? On an Idea--a single Idea. I call that a pretty fine thing." "What Idea?" snapped Brand. "A very pretty little Idea," said Philip. "She is now sleeping peacefully two decks below this." Brand sprang to his feet, his eyes blazing. "And why not?" he demanded. "Do you deny my right to follow her, and look after her, and see she comes to no harm, whatever she may think of me or do to me? I love her! Do you understand what that means? I love her! Gentlemen like you and Rendle, you don't know the meanin' of the word. With you it's just: 'Fine girl, what? Come and have supper at the Savoy to-night!' That's what you call love!" Brand's arms were waving: he was rapidly lapsing into his old Hyde Park manner. "When you've finished with one girl, or the girl's finished with you, what do you do? Kiss your 'and and get another! Bah!" "And what do you do, Brand," enquired Philip imperturbably, "when a lady gives you up?" "I give up my job: I give up everything, so as to be free; and I follow her. That's what I do. She's a child: she's not able to look after herself." "Now, my impression of Miss Jennings's character," said Philip, "is exactly the opposite. I have rarely met a woman who seemed to me so well-balanced and self-possessed."