"You must cheer up," said Fred, "and try and look at the bright side. That was what the Duke was saying only yesterday when I called to thank him. He was in such a hurry that he hardly had a moment to spare, but I took a great fancy to him. No airs and soft sawder, and a perfect gentleman. I shall call again when next I am in London. I shan't forget their kindness to you." Again no answer. "It is your duty to cheer up," continued Fred. "George is coming over to see you to-morrow morning." "I think, don't you think, Fred," said Janet suddenly, "that George is good--really good, I mean?" "He is all right," said Fred. "Not exactly open-handed. You must lay your account for that, Janet. You'll find him a bit of a screw, or I'm much mistaken." Janet was too dazed to realize what Fred's discovery of George's meanness betokened. Silence again. They were nearing home. The lights of Ivy Cottage twinkled through the violet dusk. Janet looked at them without seeing them. Cuckoo her friend, and Fred her brother! "I suppose, Janet," said Fred suddenly, "you were not able to ask Mrs Brand--no--of course not----But perhaps you were able to put in a word for me to Brand about that--about waiting for his money?" "I never said anything to either of them," said Janet. "I never thought of it again. I forgot all about it." CHAPTER IX "Yea, each with the other will lose and win, Till the very Sides of the Grave fall in." --W. E. HENLEY. It was a summer night, hot and still, six weeks later, towards the end of July. Through the open windows of a house in Hamilton Gardens a divine voice came out into the listening night:-- "She comes not when Noon is on the roses-- Too bright is day. She comes not to the Soul till it reposes From work and play. But when Night is on the hills, and the great Voices Roll in from Sea, By starlight and by candlelight and dreamlight She comes to me." Stephen sat alone in Hamilton Gardens, a massive figure under a Chinese lantern, which threw an unbecoming light on his grim face and heavy brows, and laid on the grass a grotesque boulder of shadow of the great capitalist. I do not know what he was thinking about, as he sat listening to the song, biting what could only by courtesy be entitled his little finger. Was he undergoing a passing twinge of poetry? Did money occupy his thoughts? His impassive face betrayed nothing. When did it ever betray anything? He was not left long alone. Figures were pacing in the half-lit gardens, two and two. Prose rushed in upon him in the shape of a small square body, upholstered in grey satin, which trundled its way resolutely towards him. The Duchess feared neither God nor man, but if fear had been possible to her, it would have been for that dignified, yet elusive, personage, whom she panted to call her son-in-law.