Their fate now hung once more on what Billy Beaufort would have to say, and Kent sped to the rendez-vous with restored energy. By the clock in the middle of the road it was twenty minutes to two when he reached the Café de la Paix, and, as before, it was impossible for him to take a chair. He rolled a thin cigarette with a morsel of tobacco that remained in his pouch, and paced his beat, smoking. At two o'clock Billy had not come. He had not come at half-past two. Kent doubted if this augured well for the tidings that were to be communicated, but he fortified himself by remembering that he awaited a man who was rarely punctual in any circumstances. Nevertheless, the later it became, the worse the chance looked, and when the clock pointed to three, he began to lose both hope and patience. At a quarter to four there was still no sign of Beaufort. The watcher's feet ached, and the pavement seemed to grow harder, and his boots to get tighter, with every turn. A little tobacco-dust lurked in the corners of his pouch--he thanked God to see it; and carefully, as if it had been dust of gold, he shook it on to a paper, and assuaged his weariness and rage with another cigarette. Beaufort meant the success or the failure of their plan, and while he had but scant expectation of his turning up now, he dared; not go away. He promised himself to go at four, but at four dreaded lest he might miss him just by five minutes and determined to stop until a quarter past. Despair had mastered him wholly when a cab rattled to a standstill and, forgetting! the pain of his feet, he saw Billy spring out. A glance, however, assured him that the waiting had been to no purpose; and after Billy had made many apologies, and recounted a series of misadventures, his statement was that he was unable to obtain any money until Saturday afternoon. Kent dragged himself home, and Cynthia and he sat with bowed heads. "We're done," said Humphrey, "and that's all about it! I must tell the girl we can't pay our bills and are turned out. But _she's_ always been paid up to the present; what's it to do with her, after all?" "We _won't_ be done!" declared Cynthia; "we won't! Humphrey, if--if I wrote----" "No, by Jove!" he said; "I do bar that. We've kept our affairs from your people all along, and we won't give ourselves away now.... Do you mind very much?" She did, but lied nobly. "You're perfectly right," she answered; "I was a coward to think of it." Kent squeezed her hand. "You're a trump," he said. "Little woman, I've another idea--Turquand!" She was breathless. "Beautiful!" "If Turquand has got it, Turquand will lend it; but--but _has_ he? Well, it's worth trying. Let's see: I can catch the post; he'll get the letter in the morning. If he answered on the instant, we could have the money to-morrow night. Good Lord! how tired I am! Where's the stationery?"