The day after the conversation at the Flybynights, Mr. Beresford left town and remained away for a week. The first day after his return, he went into Mr. Simnel's room at the Office, and found that gentleman as usual surrounded with work. Contrary, however, to his general custom, Simnel no sooner looked up and saw Beresford than he threw down the pen which he was plying, rose, and advancing shook his friend heartily by the hand. "Glad to see you back, Charley!" he said; "I was afraid you were off for a ramble by your leaving no message and no address. Some of the old games, eh? You must give them up now, Master Charley, and live circumspectly; by Jove, you must." "Nothing of the sort," replied Beresford. "Gayford, who was chief here before Maddox, was an old friend of our family; and he's ill, poor old boy, so I went out of charity to stay with him. He's got a place at Berkhampstead, and there's deuced good hunting-country round there. I had three capital days; Gayford's daughters were out; clipping riders, those girls; good as Kate Mellon any day!" "Indeed!" said Mr. Simnel, wincing a little at the name: "I should think flirting with any body's daughters, be they ever so 'clipping,' as you call it, would be time wasted for you just now, wouldn't it?" "What do you mean?" asked Beresford, knowing perfectly, but anxious that the declaration should come from his companion. "Mean!" said Simnel, somewhat savagely. "What ant I likely to mean? That you ought to stick to your duties here and earn your salary; that Sir Hickory has heard that you go to the Argyle Rooms, and is going to speak to Lord Palmerston about it; that you're hurting your health or spoiling your complexion by keeping late hours,--is that why I'm likely to tell you to live circumspectly? What rubbish it is fencing with me in this way! You know that the last time we met was at that nightclub of yours; that we had a talk there with Dr. Prater; and that you determined--" "I know," interrupted Beresford with a start--"I know," he continued, looking round, "I'm not over particular; but I confess this plotting for a dead man's shoes seems to me infernal rascality." "What do you mean by 'plotting,' Charles Beresford? _I_ am plotting for no dead man's shoes. _I_ have no hope of marrying a pretty widow, and having a splendid income; and as for rascality--" "There, I didn't mean it; I only thought--" "Nor, on the other hand," pursued Mr. Simnel, relentlessly, "am _I_ over head and ears in debt, pressed by Jews, horribly impecunious, and--" "Leave me alone, Simnel, can't you? I know all this; and as you must be perfectly certain, I've turned this Schröder affair over in my mind a hundred times already." "And what have you decided?" "To go in for it at all hazards."