“I am glad to hear it. Now that I have answered your questions, please to give me the money.” Rowland shook his head. “For that purpose, I can’t!” “You can’t?” “It ‘s impossible. Your plan is rank folly. I can’t help you in it.” Roderick flushed a little, and his eye expanded. “I will borrow what money I can, then, from Mary!” This was not viciously said; it had simply the ring of passionate resolution. Instantly it brought Rowland to terms. He took a bunch of keys from his pocket and tossed it upon the grass. “The little brass one opens my dressing-case,” he said. “You will find money in it.” Roderick let the keys lie; something seemed to have struck him; he looked askance at his friend. “You are awfully gallant!” “You certainly are not. Your proposal is an outrage.” “Very likely. It ‘s a proof the more of my desire.” “If you have so much steam on, then, use it for something else. You say you are awake again. I am delighted; only be so in the best sense. Is n’t it very plain? If you have the energy to desire, you have also the energy to reason and to judge. If you can care to go, you can also care to stay, and staying being the more profitable course, the inspiration, on that side, for a man who has his self-confidence to win back again, should be greater.” Roderick, plainly, did not relish this simple logic, and his eye grew angry as he listened to its echo. “Oh, the devil!” he cried. Rowland went on. “Do you believe that hanging about Christina Light will do you any good? Do you believe it won’t? In either case you should keep away from her. If it won’t, it ‘s your duty; and if it will, you can get on without it.” “Do me good?” cried Roderick. “What do I want of ‘good’--what should I do with ‘good’? I want what she gives me, call it by what name you will. I want to ask no questions, but to take what comes and let it fill the impossible hours! But I did n’t come to discuss the matter.” “I have not the least desire to discuss it,” said Rowland. “I simply protest.” Roderick meditated a moment. “I have never yet thought twice of accepting a favor of you,” he said at last; “but this one sticks in my throat.” “It is not a favor; I lend you the money only under compulsion.” “Well, then, I will take it only under compulsion!” Roderick exclaimed. And he sprang up abruptly and marched away. His words were ambiguous; Rowland lay on the grass, wondering what they meant. Half an hour had not elapsed before Roderick reappeared, heated with rapid walking, and wiping his forehead. He flung himself down and looked at his friend with an eye which expressed something purer than bravado and yet baser than conviction. “I have done my best!” he said. “My mother is out of money; she is expecting next week some circular notes from London. She had only ten francs in her pocket. Mary Garland gave me every sou she possessed in the world. It makes exactly thirty-four francs. That ‘s not enough.” “You asked Miss Garland?” cried Rowland.