“I'll go to Poole's at once,” said I. And then it struck me, to my whimsical dismay, that in the present precarious state of my finances, especially in view of my decision to abandon political journalism in favour of I knew not what occupation, I could not afford to order clothes largely from a fashionable tailor. “I shouldn't have mentioned it,” said Lola apologetically, “but you're always so spick and span.” “And now I'm getting shabby!” I threw back my head and laughed at the new and comical conception of Simon de Gex down at heel. “Oh, not shabby!” echoed Lola. “Yes, my dear. The days of purple and fine linen are _vorbei_. You'll have to put up with me in a threadbare coat and frayed cuffs and ragged hems to my trousers.” Lola declared that I was talking rubbish. “Not quite such rubbish as you may think, my dear. Shall you mind?” “It would break my heart. But why do you talk so? You can't be--as poor--as that?” Her face manifested such tragic concern that I laughed. Besides, the idea of personal poverty amused me. When I gave up my political work I should only have what I had saved from my wreck--some two hundred a year--to support me until I should find some other means of livelihood. It was enough to keep me from starvation, and the little economies I had begun to practise afforded me enjoyment. On the other hand, how folks regulated their balance-sheets so as to live on two hundred a year I had but a dim notion. In the course of our walk from Barbara's Building to the Judds the night before I had asked Campion. He had laughed somewhat grimly. “I don't know. I don't run an asylum for spendthrift plutocrats; but if you want to see how people live and bring up large families on fifteen shillings a week, I can show you heaps of examples.” This I felt would, in itself, be knowledge of the deepest interest; but it would in no way aid me to solve my own economic difficulty. I was always being brought up suddenly against the problem in some form or another, and, as I say, it caused me considerable amusement. “I shall go on happily enough,” said I, reassuringly. “In the meantime let us go and see the lions and tigers.” We started. The electric brougham glided along comfortably through the sunlit streets. A feeling of physical and spiritual content stole over me. Our hands met and lingered a long time in a sympathetic clasp. Whatever fortune held in store for me here at least I had an inalienable possession. For some time we said nothing, and when our eyes met she smiled. I think she had never felt my heart so near to hers. At last we broke the silence and talked of ordinary things. I told her of my vigil overnight and my undertaking to look after the Judds. She listened with great interest. When I had finished my tale, she said almost passionately: “Oh, I wish I could do something like that!” “You?”