But as he went down the stairs Kent was surprised to perceive that he felt suddenly mournful. The noise of the door closing behind him was charged with ridiculous melancholy, and there appeared to him something sad in this conventional ending that had the semblance of estrangement. The sentiment and impression of the hour that he had spent in the room after the Variétés recurred to him, and contrasted with it their adieu became full of pathos. He questioned reproachfully if, in his determination not to be more than a friend, he might not have repaid her own friendship by ingratitude, and so have wounded her. He first decided that he would send her a letter, and then that he would not send her a letter. He made his way through the Champ Elysées reflectively, and once half obeyed a violent temptation to turn back. He would have obeyed it wholly but that he felt its indulgence would be laughable, or that Mrs. Deane-Pitt would be likely to look upon it in that light. So he restrained the impulse. But he could not laugh himself. CHAPTER XVII The respite afforded by the mont-de-piété was brief, and all that Kent received from Beaufort in the next three weeks was twenty francs. The Garins' faces in the hall were very glum, now, and the sum against "_Notes remises_" at the top of the bills that came up to the bedroom on Monday mornings had swelled to such disheartening dimensions that the debtor no longer gave himself the trouble to decipher the various items. In addition to this, the affairs of _The World and his Wife_ had reached a crisis, and he learnt from the Editor that it was doomed. An interval of restored hope ensued. The life of the paper hung in the balance--then they went to press no more. Beaufort declared that Kent's claim would be discharged without delay, and, knowing the ex-proprietor's position, Humphrey could not believe that he would be allowed to suffer. That the Baronet was ignorant of his claim's existence and that it was Billy Beaufort who had to find, the money for him, he had no idea; no more had he suspected, when he took Cynthia to the Nouveau Cirque and applauded the contortions of "Mlle. Veronique," that the artiste who stood on her head, and kissed her toes to them, was in part responsible for their plight. Billy, realising that the matter must be squared somehow, if things weren't to become more unpleasant, spoke reassuringly of Sir Charles being momentarily in tight quarters; and Humphrey, in daily expectation of a cheque, made daily promises of a settlement to the Garins, while he discussed with Cynthia what should be their next move.