“I’m glad to hear you say that,” he observed; “and it’s just what I should have thought. I like Mrs. Clarendon very much, but--well, I can’t say that I find in her the moral support I am seeking.” “You are seeking moral support?” Ada asked, looking at him in her direct way, with no irony in her expression. “Well, that’s rather a grand way of putting it, after all, for one who isn’t accustomed to pose and use long words. I want help, there’s no doubt of that, at all events.” “Help of what kind?” “Moral help--it’s the only word, after all. Material help wouldn’t be out of place, but one doesn’t go round with one’s hat exactly--till, that is, one’s driven to it by what Homer calls a shameless stomach. Don’t think I know Homer, Miss Warren; it’s only a phrase out of a crib, which somehow has stuck in my mind.” Ada laughed. “Now, if you hadn’t told me that,” she said, “I might have been greatly impressed.” “Pay tribute to my honesty then.” He rose from his leaning attitude and walked a few paces. “You’ve no idea,” he resumed, facing her, “how much better I feel since I’ve been talking to you; upon my word I do. As I said, there’s something so restful in your society. You give me ideas, too. I don’t feel sluggish as I do at other times.” He paused again, and again resumed. This time with a rather pathetic resignation in his voice. “I suppose Mrs. Clarendon’s advice is the best.” “What was that?” Ada inquired, her tone colder. “She said I’d better give up hope in England, and go to some other country. Texas was proposed.” The girl kept silence. If Lacour gauged her rightly she was reflecting upon this advice as coming from Mrs. Clarendon. Her brows drew together, and there was the phantom of a bitter smile at her lips. “Mrs. Clarendon thinks you would be better off in Texas?” she asked, with indifference not so skilfully assumed but that this shrewd young man could see through it. “Yes; she seems to think I should be better off anywhere than in England. I dare say she’s right, you know. My friends are about getting tired of me; it’s time I made myself scarce.” “And what would you do in Texas?” “Oh, pretty much anything. The kind of work you see farm labourers doing here--rail-splitting, sheep-washing and driving, and so on.” “You feel a call to such occupations?” “Well, I have Mrs. Clarendon’s advice.” “Mrs. Clarendon’s advice!” she repeated. “Is Mrs. Clarendon’s advice decisive with you?” “I believe she has a friendly interest in me, and I shouldn’t wonder if she’s right. Other people have advised the same thing. They’ve given me up, you see, one and all.” His voice was more pathetic still. He had reseated himself, and leaned back with his eyes closed. Mr. Lacour did this not unfrequently when speaking with persons whom he desired to interest. She did not speak, and he rose, as if with an effort. “Well, I’ll be off; I bore you. Will you permit me to make use of the window for exit?” “Why not?” she replied mechanically.