Haverford's brown face coloured a little. "The truth is, Mrs. Lancing," he said, "I felt in need of sympathy, so I came to you." "Sympathy! Has something happened? Oh! do let me know!" She spoke for the first time naturally. He sat forward and looked into the fire for a moment, and then quietly and in a very few words he gave her the story of what had happened, or, rather, the story of what he had discovered up north, and Camilla listened eagerly; her own trouble, bitter and pressing and painful as it was, faded from her as she listened. "I don't suppose anybody in the wide world knows what this means to me," Haverford said slowly, when he had spoken of his disappointment, of the breakdown of his hopes. "I was so fond of those people. I counted so surely on their faith in me, in their real affection. Money is a very destructive thing, Mrs. Lancing! I will stake my existence that there is not a man or a woman who had not a good thought for me in the old days. And now there is not one who would not enjoy flinging a brick at me." Camilla did not speak for a moment. "I think I understand," softly; then she said, "But I don't believe I can give you sympathy, Mr. Haverford. I am sure this has gone too deeply for any words of mine to help you." She stretched out her hand, however, as she spoke, and Rupert took it, laying it on one broad palm and closing his other tenderly over it. He felt the nervous thrill that ran through her. Her face was scarlet as she took her hand away with a jerk. "Here comes tea," she said. "You are going to wait upon me, please, Mr. Haverford. I don't feel quite equal to lifting the teapot." When he had done this gravely, taking any amount of care, and they were alone, without any further interruption, he stood once more by the fireplace, and looked at her. "Now I have told you my trouble, won't you tell me yours?" She winced and caught her breath, and then with a sudden irresponsible movement she put her hands to her face, and he saw that she was crying. His own hands moved convulsively, but almost immediately Camilla had mastered her weakness. "Don't ... think me quite a fool," she said, "and don't, _please_ don't, run away with the idea that I want to cry. I must be very strong now.... I never want to cry ... tears are useless at all times, but they are worse than useless now. I believe," she said, as she dried her eyes hurriedly, "that it won't surprise you in the least to be told that I have always been more or less in difficulty. Of course it is money--hateful, horrible, _horrible_ money." She got up and moved away from him, still drying her eyes.