“I’m sorry you don’t like them,” said Janet. “It was Juliet Baldwin who persuaded us to buy them. She had seen some at Medlow Court, and she raved about them.” Harrington went out of the room without another word. How odious his sisters had become of late; yet while he was at Oxford they had regarded him as an oracle, and he had found even sisterly appreciation pleasant. It was some time since he had attended evening service, but on this particular evening he went alone, not troubling to invite his sisters, who were subject to an intermittent form of neuralgia which often prevented their going to church in the evening. To-night he avoided St. Peter’s, in which his father had seats, and went to the more remote church of Fordington, where he had a pew all to himself on this frosty winter night, except for one well-behaved worshipper in the person of his father’s old and confidential clerk, James Hayfield, a constant church-goer, who was punctual at every evening service, whatever the weather. Harrington had expected to see him there. Hayfield sat modestly aloof at the further end of the pew, but when the service was over the young man took some pains to follow close upon the heels of the grey-haired clerk, with shoulders bent by long years of desk-work, and respectable dark-blue Chesterfield overcoat with velvet collar. “How do you do, Hayfield? Isn’t this rather a sharp night for you to venture out in?” said Harrington, as they left the church porch. “I’m a toughish customer, I thank you, Mr. Harrington. It would take severer weather than this to keep me away from the evening service. I’m very fond of the evening service. A fine sermon, sir, a fine, awakening sermon.” “Magnificent, capital,” exclaimed Harrington, who hadn’t heard two consecutive sentences, and whose mind had been engaged upon arithmetical problems of the most unpleasant kind. “It is uncommonly cold though,” he added, shivering. “I’ll walk round your way. It will be a little longer for me.” “You’re very good, Mr. Harrington, very good indeed,” said the old clerk, evidently touched by this unusual condescension. Never till to-night had his master’s son offered to walk home from church with him. The old man’s gratitude was more than Harrington could stand. He could not take credit for kindly condescension, when he knew himself intent upon his own selfish ends. “I’m afraid I’m not altogether disinterested in seeking your company to-night, Hayfield,” he blurted out. “The fact is, I want to ask a favour of you.” “You may take it as granted, Mr. Harrington,” answered the clerk, cheerily, “provided the granting of it lies within my power.” “Oh, it’s not a tremendous affair—in point of fact, it’s only a small money matter. I’m exceeding my allowance a little this quarter, but I intend to pull up next quarter; and it will be a great convenience to me in the meantime if you’ll lend me ten or fifteen pounds.”