She broke off and began hurriedly to drink. Peter's eyes sought her eyes--his eyes were miserable and so were hers--but her mouth was hard and laughing. “It's funny talking of Cornwall,” she said at last. “No one's spoken of the place since I came up here. But it's all right, I tell you--quite all right. You take it from me, chucky. I enjoy my life--have a jolly time. There's disadvantages in every profession, and when you've got a bit of a cold as I have now why--” She stopped. Her eyes sought Peter's. He saw that she was nearly crying. “Talking of Cornwall and all that,” she muttered, “silly rot! I'm tired--I'm going home.” He paid for the drinks and got a hansom. At that moment as he stood looking over the horse into the dimly-lit obscurities of the Square he thought with a sudden beating of the heart that he recognised Cardillac looking at him from the doorway of a neighbouring restaurant. Then the figure was gone. He had got Cardillac on the brain! Nevertheless the suggestion made him suddenly conscious of poor Miss Bennett's enormous hat, her rouge, her soiled finery that allowed no question as to her position in the world. Rather hurriedly he asked her to get into the cab. “Come that far--” she said. He got in with her and she took off one glove and he held her hand and they didn't speak all the way. When the hansom stopped at last he got down, helped her out and for a moment longer held her hand. “We're both pretty unhappy,” he said. “Things have been going wrong with me too. But think of Cornwall sometimes and remember there's some one else thinking of it.” “You're a funny kid,” she said, looking at him, “sentimental, I _don't_ think!” But it was her eyes--tired and regretful that said goodbye. She let herself in and the door closed behind her. He turned and walked the streets; it was three o'clock before he reached his home. CHAPTER XIII “MORTIMER STANT” I Next morning Peter went round to Cardillac's flat and made his apologies. Cardillac accepted them at once with the frankest expressions of friendship. “My dear old Peter, of course,” he said, taking both Peter's hands in his, “I was horribly blunt and unpleasant about the whole thing. I didn't mean half what I said, but the fact is that you got angry and then I suppose I got angry--and then we both said more than we meant.” “No,” said Peter slowly, “for you were quite right. I have been selfish and morbid. I see it all quite clearly. I'm going to be very different now, Cards, old man.” Cards' flat was splendid--everything in it from its grey Ascot trouserings kind of wall paper to its beautiful old chairs and its beautiful old china was of the very best--and Cards himself, in a dark blue suit with a black tie and a while pearl and white spats on his shining gleaming shoes, just ready to go out and startle Piccadilly was of the very best. He had never, Peter thought, looked so handsome. At the door Cards put a hand on Peter's shoulder.