"I ought to have explained that they are his uncle and aunt, too. My aunt's sister married his father." "But--" "It's quite simple, though it doesn't sound so. Perhaps you haven't read the _Sunday Chronicle_ lately? It has been publishing articles about Jimmy Crocker's disgusting behaviour in London--they call him Piccadilly Jim, you know--" In print, that name had shocked Jimmy. Spoken, and by Ann, it was loathly. Remorse for his painful past tore at him. "There was another one printed yesterday." "I saw it," said Jimmy, to avert description. "Oh, did you? Well, just to show you what sort of a man Jimmy Crocker is, the Lord Percy Whipple whom he attacked in the club was his very best friend. His step-mother told my aunt so. He seems to be absolutely hopeless." She smiled. "You're looking quite sad, Mr. Bayliss. Cheer up! You may look like him, but you aren't him he?--him?--no, 'he' is right. The soul is what counts. If you've got a good, virtuous, Algernonish soul, it doesn't matter if you're so like Jimmy Crocker that his friends come up and talk to you in restaurants. In fact, it's rather an advantage, really. I'm sure that if you were to go to my aunt and pretend to be Jimmy Crocker, who had come over after all in a fit of repentance, she would be so pleased that there would be nothing she wouldn't do for you. You might realise your ambition of being adopted by a millionaire. Why don't you try it? I won't give you away." "Before they found me out and hauled me off to prison, I should have been near you for a time. I should have lived in the same house with you, spoken to you--!" Jimmy's voice shook. Ann turned her head to address an imaginary companion. "You must listen to this, my dear," she said in an undertone. "He speaks _wonderfully!_ They used to call him the Boy Orator in his home-town. Sometimes that, and sometimes Eloquent Algernon!" Jimmy eyed her fixedly. He disapproved of this frivolity. "One of these days you will try me too high--!" "Oh, you didn't hear what I was saying to my friend, did you?" she said in concern. "But I meant it, every word. I love to hear you talk. You have such _feeling!_" Jimmy attuned himself to the key of the conversation. "Have you no sentiment in you?" he demanded. "I was just warming up, too! In another minute you would have heard something worth while. You've damped me now. Let's talk about my lifework again." "Have you thought of anything?" "I'd like to be one of those fellows who sit in offices, and sign checks, and tell the office-boy to tell Mr. Rockerfeller they can give him five minutes. But of course I should need a check-book, and I haven't got one. Oh well, I shall find something to do all right. Now tell me something about yourself. Let's drop the future for awhile." * * * * *