"Then turn him over where he belongs--to Bernadette." She raised her brows a little, as she smiled at him. "Oh, the young fellow's got to get his baptism of fire. It'll do him good." "How easily you Judges settle other people's fortunes!" "In the end, his not going to his cousin's house is an absurdity." "Well, yes, so it is, in the end, of course," she agreed. "It shall be done, Sir Christopher." While his fortunes were thus being settled for him--more or less, and as the future might reveal--Arthur was walking home, well pleased with himself. The lady's friendliness delighted him; if he did not prize the old Judge's so highly, he had the sense to perceive that it was really a more valuable testimonial and brought with it more substantial encouragement. From merely being kind to him the Norton Wards had come to like him, as it seemed, and their liking was backed by Sir Christopher's endorsement. He did not regard these things from a worldly point of view; he did not think of them as stepping-stones, or at any rate only quite indirectly. They would no doubt help him to get rid of, or at least to hold in subjection, his demon of self-distrust; but still more would they comfort him and make him happy. The pleasure he derived from Mrs. Norton Ward's liking, and the Judge's approval, was in quality akin to the gratification which Marie Sarradet's bearing had given him a few nights ago in Regent's Park; just as that had roused in him a keener sense of Marie's attractiveness, so now he glowed with a warm recognition of the merits of his new friends. Walking home along Oxford Street, he had almost reached the corner of Tottenham Court Road when his complacent musings were interrupted by the sight of a knot of people outside the door of a public-house. It was the sort of group not unusual at half-past eleven o'clock at night--a man, a woman on his arm, a policeman, ten or a dozen interested spectators, very ready with advice as Londoners are. As he drew near, he heard what was passing, though the policeman's tall burly figure was between him and the principal actor in the scene. "Better do as she says and go 'ome, sir," said the policeman soothingly. "'Ome, _Sweet_ 'Ome!" murmured somebody in tones of fond reminiscence. "Yes, do now. You don't really want it, you know you don't," urged the lady in her turn. "Whether I want it or not----" At the sound of this last voice Arthur started into quick attention and came to a halt. He recognised the full tones, now somewhat thickened, with their faint but unmistakable suggestion of the Cockney twang. "Whether I want it or not----" The man spoke slowly, with an effort after distinctness which was obvious but not unsuccessful--"I've a right to have it. He's bound to serve the public. I'm--I'm member of the public." "'Ad enough for two members, _I_ should sye," came in comment from the fringe of the group. "That's it! Go 'ome now," the policeman suggested again, infinitely patient and persuasive.