“Perhaps I had no right to say what I did,” he answered at length, “as it is a secret. But I will tell it to you all the same, because I feel sure that I can trust you, and because we are both friends of the Chances and interested in their welfare, and anxious about them. When I met Merton to-day I was a little surprised at his manner and conversation, but in the end I set it down to excitement at meeting with an old friend. I was anxious not to believe that he had been drinking, and I did not know that most of the things he told me were rank falsehoods. He said that he was doing very well as a writer, and that he required fifty pounds to make up a sum to purchase an interest in a weekly paper, and asked me to lend it to him, which I did. I am now convinced that what he told me was not the truth, and that in lending him fifty pounds I have gone the wrong way about helping him, and fear very much--please don't think me cynical for saying it--that he will keep out of my sight as much as he can. I regret it for his wife's sake. He might have known that I could have helped him in other and better ways.” Fan made no remark, and presently he continued: “But let us talk of something else now. Are you fond of reading novels, Miss Affleck?--if it is not impertinent in me to speak on such a subject just after we have heard Merton's harangue on the subject.” Of novels they accordingly talked for the next half-hour; but Fan, rather to his surprise, had read very few of the books of the day about which he spoke. They were near the end of their walk now. “Let me say one thing more about our friends before we separate,” he said. “I do not believe that I shall see much of Merton now, as I said before. But I shall be very anxious to know how they get on, and you of course will know. Will you allow me to call at your house and see you sometimes?” “That would be impossible, Mr. Eden.” “Why?” he asked in surprise. “I must tell you, Mr. Eden--I wish Mr. Chance had told you to prevent mistakes--that I am only a very poor girl. I am in a shop in Regent Street, and have only one room in the house where I lodge. I have no relations in the world, and no friends except Constance.” “Is that so?” he said, his tone betraying his surprise. And with the surprise he felt was mingled disgust--disgust with himself for having so greatly mistaken her position, and with Destiny for having placed her so low. But the disgust very quickly passed away, and was succeeded by a different feeling--one of satisfaction if not of positive elation. “This is my door, Mr. Eden,” said Fan, pausing before one of the dark, grimy-looking houses in the monotonous street they had entered.