But the end was that the two did go to town together, and that it was Fairfax who directed this enemy of his friends’ where to go, and how to manage his business. Gus was perfectly helpless, not knowing anything about London, and would have been as likely to settle himself in Fleet Street as in Piccadilly--perhaps more so. Fairfax could not get rid of his companion till he had put him in communication with the lawyer, and generally looked after all his affairs. For himself nothing could be more ill-omened. He went about asking himself what would the Markhams think of him?--and yet what could he do? Gus’s mingled perplexity and excitement in town were amusing, but they were embarrassing too. He wanted to go and see the Tower and St. Paul’s. He wanted Fairfax to tell him exactly what he ought to give to every cabman. He stood in the middle of the crowd in the streets folding his arms, and resisting the stream which would have carried him one way or the other. “You call this a free country, and yet one cannot even walk as one likes,” he said. “Why are these fellows jostling me; do they want to rob me?” Fairfax did not know what to do with the burden thus thrown on his hands. And it may be imagined what the young man’s sensations were, when having just deposited Gus in the dining-room of one of the junior clubs of which he was a member, he met Paul upon the steps of the building coming in. Paul was a member too. Fairfax was driven to his wits’ end. The little gentleman was tired, and would not budge an inch until he had eaten his luncheon and refreshed himself. What was to be done? Paul was not too friendly even to himself. “Are you here, too, Markham? I thought there was nobody in London but myself,” Fairfax said. “There are only a few millions for those who take them into account; but some people don’t----” “Oh, you know what I mean,” Fairfax said. And then they stood and looked at each other. Paul was pale. His mourning gave him a formal look, not unlike his father. He had the air of some young official on duty, with a great deal of unusual care and responsibility upon him. “You look as if you were the head of an office,” said Fairfax, attempting a smile. “It would not be a bad thing,” said the other languidly; “but the tail would be more like it than the head. I must do something of that kind.” “Do you mean that you are going into public life?” “That depends upon what _you_ mean by public life,” said Paul. “I am not, for instance, going into Parliament, though there were thoughts of that once; but I have got to work, my good fellow, though that may seem odd to you.”