"I failed to send you your three pounds on Saturday, Ellen," he said. "Here are thirty--three hundred, if you will. Take them and leave me for a little time." It is not too much to say that Ellen grabbed at the notes. She counted them carefully and thrust them into her reticule. Her manner was indicating a change. The hard contempt had gone from her face. She looked at her husband with something like awe. After all, this was the signal and final proof of greatness--he had made money! "Aren't you pleased about it?" she asked sharply. "Not that I ever thought you'd have the wits to turn anything like this into real, solid account!" Burton set his teeth. "I am afraid," he said, "that I cannot quite explain how I feel about it. There will be plenty of money for you--for some time, at any rate. You can buy the house, if you like, or buy one somewhere else." "What about you?" she demanded. "Ain't you coming back?" He did not move. She rose to her feet, raised her veil and came over to where he was sitting. He smelt the familiar odor of "Lily of the Valley" perfume, blended with the odor of cleaned gloves and benzine. The air around him was full of little violet specks from her boa. She laid her hand upon his shoulder. "Come and be a man again, Alfred," she begged, a little awkwardly. "You've got good common sense at the bottom still, I am sure. Why don't you give up this tomfoolery and come home to me and the boy? Or shall I stay up," she went on, "and have a little evening in town? You've got the money. Why not let's go to a restaurant and a music-hall afterwards? We might ask the Johnsons. Little Alf would be all right, and I put on my best hat, in case." Burton looked wearily up. "Ellen," he said, "I am afraid I can't make you understand. It is true that I shall probably be rich, but I hate the thought of it. I only want to be left alone. I have made a mistake, and yet, Heaven knows, it was hard for me to escape! Before very long," he added, his voice sinking a little lower, "it is quite likely that you will recognize me again completely. I dare say then I shall be very glad to go to the theatre with you and to meet the Johnsons. Just now I--I can't." Ellen began to tremble. "Before long you'll be very glad, eh?" she exclaimed. "Well, we'll see about that! I'm sick of this begging and praying of you to behave like a reasonable person. If there's another woman who's come along, why, out with it and let me know?" "You don't understand," Mr. Waddington interrupted, gently. "Your husband and I have both come under the influence of these--these beans. It is not possible for us to live as we have been accustomed to live." "Well, I like that!" Ellen declared. "Do you mean to say this is going on?" Burton looked up. "On the contrary," he announced, "it is coming to an end--with me, at any rate. Until it does come to an end, it will be kinder of you, and better for both of us, for you to keep away."