"I'll think it over," said he at last. "That's right. Think over it and if you're in love, as you ought to be, ask your girl if I'm not right. Have a night's consideration and come and see me to-morrow. I wish you good-night and--more sense." CHAPTER XV "A MAN SHOULD FIGHT HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD" Vane left alone, strolled onward moodily, his eyes bent on the ground. "In love, as I ought to be, said that scoundrel," he was muttering. "How does he know I'm not? But what's the good? Faith, I believe I'm the poorest devil in London and the unluckiest. Some people would say that it is my own fault and that I've no need to be. Anyhow, my worthy father would hold that view. I doubt if he'd kill the fatted calf if I went back to him.... Go back! I'd rather go to the devil to whose tender mercies he consigned me. Well, let it be so.... I've had some of the joys of life--though maybe I've also had a good slice of its disappointments.... It was worth being poor to have the pity of that dear delightful girl.... God, what eyes! How sweet the tones of her voice! I feel I love every hair of her pretty head. But to what purpose? She's not for me. She never could be. Yet--well I shall see her again. That's a joy to live for ... anyway. But it's too late to expect her now. There's nothing left but to dream of her." While thus soliloquising, kicking the pebbles as an accompaniment to his thoughts, Vane neared the corner of Moor Fields leading to Cripples Gate and was pounced upon by a couple of noisy fellows, friends of his, who, newly sprung with wine, would have him go with them to the "Bear and Staff" close to the Gate. "No--no," protested Vane, "I'm not in the mood." "The very reason why you should drink," quoth one. "But I've sworn not to touch a drop of anything stronger than coffee or chocolate for a week. I had too much port last night." "Worse and worse. Hang it man, whatever you may have been at Oxford University you are no disputant now. Your resolution to be virtuous for a week won't last a day unless you strengthen it. And what strengthens the wit more than wine?" "Get thee gone Satan. I'm not to be tempted by a paradox." Vane did not speak with conviction. His spirits were low. Curll's offer was worrying him. To be in the service of such a man, whose personal character was as infamous as some of the books he published, was a humiliation. It meant the prostitution of his faculties. He shuddered at the prospect of becoming one of Curll's slaves to some of whom he paid a mere pittance and who were sunk so low they had no alternative but to do his bidding. Meanwhile the second man had thrust his arm within Vane's and had led him along a few paces, when suddenly the imprisoned arm was withdrawn and Vane pulled himself up. He had caught sight of a Nithsdale cloak with the face he had been dreaming about all day peeping from beneath the hood. "Jarvis--Compton--let me go," he exclaimed, "another time."