“As he told us, Nelly, we must accept these things as part of our changed condition. Poverty would n't be such a hard thing to bear if it only meant common food and coarse clothing; but it implies scores of things that are far less endurable.” While they thus talked, Cutbill had hurried down to the station, and just caught the messenger as he was taking his seat in the train. Two others--one bound for Russia and one for Greece--were already seated in the compartment, smoking their cigars with an air of quiet indolence, like men making a trip by a river steamer. “I say, Bollard,” cried Cutbill, “where is Cattaro?” “Don't know; is he a tenor?” “It's a place; a consulate somewhere or other.” “Never heard of it Have you, Digby?” “It sounds like Calabria, or farther south.” “I know it,” said the third man. “It's a vile hole; it's on the eastern shore of the Adriatic. I was wrecked there once in an Austrian Lloyd's steamer, and caught a tertian fever before I could get away. There was a fellow there, a vice-consul they called him. He was dressed in sheepskins, and, I believe, lived by wrecking. He stole my watch, and would have carried away my portmanteau, but I was waiting for him with my revolver, and winged him.” “Did nothing come of it?” asked another. “They pensioned him, I think. I 'm not sure; but I think they gave him twenty pounds a year. I know old Kepsley stopped eight pounds out of my salary for a wooden leg for the rascal. There's the whistle; take care, sir, you'll come to grief if you hang on.” Cutbill attended to the admonition, and bidding the travellers good-bye, returned slowly to the Bramleighs' lodgings, pondering over all he had heard, and canvassing with himself how much of his unpleasant tidings he would venture to relate. “Where 's your map?” said he, entering. “I suspect I can make out the place now. Show me the Adriatic. Zara--Lissa--what a number of islands! Here you are; here's Bocca di Cattaro--next door to the Turks, by Jove.” “My dear Gusty, don't think of this, I beseech you,” said Nelly, whispering. “It is enough to see where it is, to know it must be utter barbarism.” “I won't say it looks inviting,” said Cutbill, as he bent over the map, “and the messenger had n't much to say in its praise, either.” “Probably not; but remember what you told me awhile ago, Mr. Cutbill, that even this was better than depending on my little talents.” “He holds little talents in light esteem, then?” said Ellen, tartly. “That's exactly what I do,” rejoined Cutbill, quickly. “As long as you are rich enough to be courted for your wealth, your little talents will find plenty of admirers; but as to earning your bread by them, you might as well try to go round the Cape in an outrigger. Take it, by all means,--take it, if it is only to teach you what it is to earn your own dinner.” “And is my sister to face such a life as this?”