His aunt took a seat beside him on the bed. Her dove-like eyes wandered about his room, bare save for the drawings on the walls and on a chair in the corner, a cast covered by a wet cloth. Mrs. Carew's hands clasped over her silk bead purse hanging empty between the rings. "I have come to ask a great favour of you, Antony." He repeated, in astonishment, "Of _me_--why, Auntie, anything that I can do...." Mrs. Carew's slender figure undulated, the sculptor thought. She made him think of a swan--of a lily. Her pale, ineffectual features had an old-fashioned loveliness. He put his hand over his aunt's. He murmured devotedly-- "You must let me do anything there is to do." "I am in debt, Tony," she murmured, tremulously. "Your uncle gives me _so_ little money--it's impossible to run the establishment." He exclaimed hotly, "It's a _shame_, Aunt Caroline." "Henry thinks we spend a great deal of money, but I like to dress the children well." Her nephew recalled Bella's wardrobe. Mrs. Carew, as though she confessed a readily-forgiven fault, whispered-- "I am so fond of bric-a-brac, Antony." He could not help smiling. "Down in Maiden Lane last week I bought a beautiful lamp for the front hall. I intended paying for it by instalments; but I've not been able to save enough--the men are waiting at the house. I _can't_ tell your uncle, I really _can't_. He would turn me out of doors." Over Fairfax's mind flashed the picture of the "Soul of honour" confronted by a debt to a Jew ironmonger. His aunt's daily pilgrimage began to assume a picturesqueness and complexity that were puzzling. "Carew's a brute," he said, shortly. "I can't see why you married him." Mrs. Carew, absorbed in the picture of the men waiting in the front hall and the iron lamp waiting as well, did not reply. "How much do you need, Auntie?" "Only fifty dollars, my dear boy. I can give it back next week when Henry pays me my allowance." He exclaimed: "I am lucky to have it to help you out, Auntie. I've got it right here." The sense of security transformed Mrs. Carew. She laughed gently, put her hand on her nephew's shoulder again, exclaiming-- "How _fortunate_! Tony, how _glad_ I am I thought of you!" He gave her all of his mother's gift but ten dollars, and as she bestowed it carefully away she murmured-- "It _is_ a superb lamp, and a _great_ bargain. You shall see it lit to-night." "I'm afraid not to-night, Aunt Caroline. I'm off to see Cedersholm now, and I shan't be up to much, I reckon, when I get back." His visitor rose, and Fairfax discovered that he did not wish to detain her as he had thought to do before she had mentioned her errand. She seemed to have entirely escaped him. She was as intangible as air, as unreal. As he opened the door for her, considering her, he said-- "Bella looks very much like my mother, doesn't she, Aunt Caroline?" Mrs. Carew thought that Bella resembled her father.