Curious characters lived in Clifford’s Inn. Opposite Wentworth resided a City curate, of whom he knew nothing save that he had a very red nose, was dressed in shabby black, and came in at all hours. Overhead resided an old bachelor, originally intended for the medical profession, but he did not take to it kindly, and as he had a little property of his own he preferred to vegetate in a cheap and yet scholarly way. It is a sad thing for a young man to have a little money, just enough to live on, nothing more. Unless he be very ambitious, it at once stops his career and prevents his making any attempt at rising in the world. ‘Why should I fret and fume?’ said Buxton, for that was his name; ‘if I get on, I only take the place that might be filled by a better man, and so leave him all the poorer. There are plenty of pushing fellows in the world; why should I add to their number? Why should I not take life easily, and content myself with my books and my pipe and with the study of mankind? Is success in life worth having? Is the game worth the candle?’ To the questions he gave a negative reply, and in the freedom of his unconventional life he rejoiced, and greatly did rejoice. He and Wentworth were great cronies. They had both original ideas, and loved to discuss them. Moreover, he had saved Wentworth’s life. They had met in the old city of Hamburg in one of the most old-fashioned houses, in which they had apartments. It was winter, and there was a fire in the old-fashioned German stove which nearly filled the apartment. The girl who attended the lodgers had lit the stove and left the flue closed up, and consequently when Wentworth came to his morning coffee and butterbrod the air of the tightly-closed apartment—it was an unusually cold season that winter—was too much for him. The fumes of the charcoal fire filled the room. Wentworth in his ignorance took his usual seat at the table, but in a few minutes was aware that he had a very peculiar sensation in his head. As he rose from the table to look at himself in the glass he fell prone on the floor. Buxton heard the fall, and rushed into the room just in time to open the door and window and call for help, and when Wentworth recovered his consciousness he found he had been carried by the combined help of his landlady and Buxton to his bed. Thus a tragedy was averted, and, like the man in the ‘Arabian Nights,’ he felt that his life had been mercifully preserved on account of the greater misfortunes yet to befall him. After that, he and Buxton remained great friends. Passing into the square, if square the tiny enclosure may be called, at the back of St. Dunstan’s Church, the actress looked up to Wentworth’s window. It happened at that moment he was lolling out of the window, lazily smoking a cigar before he returned to rest.