"My dear fellow, I've grown quite bucolic," he assured his companion, laughing a trifle bitterly. "The few pounds I've still got suffice to keep up the half-pay wheeze, and although I'm in a chronic state of hard-up, yet I manage to rub along somehow and just pay the butcher and baker. Hang it! Why, I'm so infernally respectable that a chap came round last week with a yellow paper on which he wanted me to declare my income. Fancy me paying an income-tax!" The Prince laughed at his friend's grim humour. In the old days at Monte Carlo, Erle Brooker had been full of fun. He was the life and soul of the Hotel de Paris. No reverse ever struck him seriously, for he would laugh when "broke" just as heartily as when, with pockets bulky with greasy banknotes, he would descend the steps from the Casino, and crack a bottle of "fizz" at the cafe opposite. "If I were you I'd declare my income at eight hundred a year, pay up, and look big," Zertho laughed. "It would inspire confidence, and you could get a bit of credit here and there. Then when that's exhausted, clear out." "The old game, eh? No, I'm straight now," the other answered, his face suddenly growing grave. "Honesty is starvation. That used to be our motto, didn't it? Yet here you are with only just enough to keep a roof over your head, living in a dreary out-of-the-way hole, and posing as the model father. The thing's too absurd." "I don't see it. Surely I can please myself?" "Of course. But is it just to Liane?" "What do you mean?" "It is essential for a young girl of her temperament to have life and gaiety," he said, exhibiting his palms with a quick, expressive movement. "By vegetating in Stratfield Mortimer, amid surroundings which must necessarily possess exceedingly painful memories, she will soon become prematurely old. It's nothing short of an infernal shame that she should be allowed to remain there." Brooker did not reply. He had on more than one occasion lately reflected that a change of surroundings would do her good, for he had noticed with no little alarm how highly strung had been her nerves of late, and how pale and wan were her cheeks. Zertho spoke the truth. "I don't deny that what you say is correct," he replied thoughtfully. "But what's the use of talking of gaiety? How can any one have life without either money or friends?" "Easily enough. Both you and Liane know the Riviera well enough to find plenty of amusement there." "No, she wouldn't go. She hates it." "Bah!" cried the prince, impatiently. "If, as you say, she's turned a bit religious, she of course regards the old life as altogether dreadful. But you can easily overcome those prejudices--or I will." "How?" "In December I'm going to Nice for the season," Zertho explained. "We shall have plenty of fun there, so at my expense you'll come." "I think not," was the brief reply.