But he was not disheartened by those ominous words of hers, not even on the following morning, when he found the little thoroughfare so strangely silent and empty, and the two windows over the way become vacant and devoid of charm. He had the high courage and impetuous will of youth; seeing no difficulties or dangers ahead, he refused to believe in any; Maisrie had not denied him her love, therefore she must be his wife; and all the future shone fair. And so he set to work on his Mendover lecture; and made good progress, even if his thoughts went sometimes flying away down to Brighton. As for the lecture itself—well, perhaps certain of its contentions and illustrations would have surprised and even shocked that Communist-capitalist, his father; but the young man was accustomed to think for himself. Yes, this little street was terribly empty, and those windows indescribably blank. And the room was lonely, work or no work. But as he was standing looking out, cigarette in hand, after his frugal luncheon, a happy inspiration sprung into his head; for here was Hobson, the husband of the landlady across the way, coming along the pavement; and would it not be a comforting thing to have him in to talk about the two lodgers who had just left? Vincent opened the window a bit, and said into the street (there was no need to call)— "Hobson!" The man looked up. "Yes, sir?" "I want you for a moment." Then Vincent went himself downstairs and opened the door; and here was the shabby-genteel ex-butler, obsequiously waiting, with an excess of imbecile amiability in his weak, prominent, nervous eyes. "Come in and have a smoke, Hobson," the young man said. "You must be lonely over there now. Makes a difference, doesn’t it?" "Wonderful, sir, wonderful;" and the docile Hobson obediently followed up the stairs, and accepted a big cigar, and was prevailed on to draw in a chair to the fire. Vincent took a seat opposite him, and lit another cigarette—in a quite friendly fashion. "You’ve seen a good deal of Mr. Bethune since he came to live in your house?" the young man began, in a sort of tentative and encouraging way. And Hobson responded with instant enthusiasm—— "Ah, yes, indeed, sir, and proud of the same. A great man, sir—oh, a very great man—and how he came to be where he is, sir, well, that beats me, sir. And that haffable, sir!—if he ave somethink on the table, he’ll say, ’Hobson, bring two tumblers’—yes, sir—’Hobson, bring two tumblers’—and I must take a seat, just as kind and condescending as you are, sir. ’Fill your glass, Hobson,’ he says, just that haffable like—" "Oh, I beg your pardon," said Vincent, looking guiltily towards his vacant sideboard. "The fact is, I haven’t anything of the kind in these rooms; but I can send out. Which would you like, gin or whiskey?" "Whichever you please," said Hobson, complacently, "being so kind as to think of it, sir."