Then lights were brought into the room, lamps which made two partial circles of illumination; and the presence of the servant who brought them, necessitated a few words on ordinary subjects. Lady Curtis resumed her seat with that anxious hypocrisy by which we show our respect for the curious world below stairs, and asked Mr. Durant if he meant to remain in town, or if he was going back to the country. And he told her, not without meaning, that having come to town, though a little earlier than he intended, he meant to stay. There was a pause when they were alone again, and then Durant rose to go away. “I am afraid I have not succeeded in doing what you expected of me,” he said, somewhat drearily. “I did the best I could, and if you like I will go again, though I shall get but a poor reception. I am unfortunate,” he added, with a faint smile, which had its meaning too. “Mamma,” said Lucy, “you are not going to let Mr. Durant go, thinking we are ungrateful to him! That can never be--when he has taken so much trouble.” “Trouble when one has failed does not count for much,” he said, smiling. “It is unkind to talk to me of being grateful or ungrateful; am I not as much, I mean almost as much, very nearly as much, interested in Arthur as yourselves? as if he were my brother,” he said with vehemence. “He has been so; I can never think of him otherwise whatever happens.” “And whatever happens you will always think of him so?” cried Lucy, for the moment forgetting her reserve. “Oh promise me, Mr. Durant! Even if this makes a difference to us, it will make none to you? If he is so wrong, if he is so foolish that we have to turn from him, you will not? It will make no change to you?” “None!” he said, fervently. “None! I will stand by him whatever happens. You may trust me--especially now.” Lucy knew that he meant especially since she had asked him, and got a sudden soft suffusion of colour which tinted her to her very hair; but Lady Curtis thought he meant, and how justly! especially now when there was need of every friendship to stand by her son. She answered him with a struggle between the gratitude which she ought to feel, and the annoyed disappointment and distress that filled her heart. “We have no right to ask such a pledge from you, Mr. Durant. Yes, you have always been very kind, very kind. Forgive me,” she said, softening, “if I am too unhappy to say what I ought. I thought something might have been done. But to think that we must stand by calmly and see him accomplish his own destruction! Oh, think again!” she cried, with sudden tears, “can we do nothing, nothing more, to save my boy from this miserable fate?” Durant put down his hat. He did not go till late, nearly midnight. They sat and talked of Arthur, nothing but Arthur, the whole evening through. CHAPTER X.