"I can think of no one. And I do not exactly worship the ground _you_ tread on. The contemplation of my brothers appals me. I have loved various women, and shall no doubt love many more--" "No, Tracy," interposed Fortescue, "you have never loved a woman in your life. 'Tis that that might save you. I do not allude to the lustful passion you indulge in, but real love. For God's sake Belmanoir, live clean!" "Pray do not distress yourself, Frank. I am not worth it." "I choose to think that you are. I cannot but feel that if you had been loved as a boy--Your mother--" "Did you ever see my mother?" inquired his Grace lazily. "No--but--" "Have you ever seen my sister?" "Er--yes--" "In a rage?" "Really, I--" "Because, if you have, you have seen my mother. Only she was ten times more violent. In fact, we were a pleasant party when we were all at home." "I understand." "Good Gad! I believe you are sorry for me?" cried Tracy scornfully. "I am. Is it a presumption on my part?" "My dear Frank, when I am sorry for myself you may be sorry too. Until then--" "When that day comes I shall no longer pity you." "Very deep, Frank! You think I shall be on the road to recovery? A pretty conceit. Luckily, the happy moment has not yet come--and I do not think it is like to. We appear to have arrived." They were standing outside one of the tall houses where Fortescue lodged. He turned and grasped his friend's shoulders. "Tracy, give up this mad life you lead! Give up the women and the drink, and the excessive gaming; for one day, believe me, you will overstep yourself and be ruined!" The Duke disengaged himself. "I very much object to being man-handled in the street," he complained. "I suppose you still _mean_ well. You should strive to conquer the tendency." "I wonder if you know how insolent is your tone, Belmanoir?" asked Fortescue steadily. "Naturally. I should not have attained such perfection in the art else. But pray accept my thanks for your good advice. You will forgive me an I do not avail myself of it, I am sure. I prefer the crooked path." "Evidently," sighed the other. "If you will not try the straight and narrow way, I can only hope that you will fall very deeply and very honestly in love; and that the lady will save you from yourself." "I will inform you of it when it comes to pass," promised his Grace. "And now: good-night!" "Good-night!" Frank returned the low bow with a curt nod. "I shall see you to-morrow--that is, this morning--at the Baths?" "Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof," was the smiling rejoinder. "Sleep soundly, Frank!" He waved an ironic farewell and crossed the road to his own lodgings, which stood almost directly opposite.