"You mistake me," he said in gentle reproof. "It was but a manner of speaking inspired by the recollection of Cinderella. Being, however, the masculine equivalent of that lady of romance (or shall we say, 'Lob Lie-by-the-Fire'?) and out of deference to your sense of propriety, I will strive to acquire a fairy godfather. Till to-morrow, then, Mrs. Barker." He rose and politely held the door open. The landlady, carrying the tray and table-cloth, left the room in dudgeon. As soon as she had gone Lionel's face lost something of its optimism, and he began to whistle a tune in a minor key. It was a music-hall refrain, originally scored in quick time and the major clef, a gay lilt of the streets. Modulated by Lionel, under the depressing influence of Mrs. Barker, it became a dirge, incredibly painful to the ear. This even the whistler recognized after a few moments, and with a laugh at himself and his misfortunes he seized his hat and went out. He was by no means clear as to his immediate intentions. Save that his urgent need was money he had no definite idea or plan. How to compass the few pounds necessary to discharge his debt and make sure of a roof was at present beyond his wit, seeing that the situations for men like him are not picked up in a moment. He had been expensively educated at a public school and Oxford, and had a bowing acquaintance with the classics and a tolerable knowledge of law. For three years after taking his degree he had led a pleasant life, eating dinners, reading law and writing. By his pen he had made some sixty pounds a year; by the law--nothing. His father had given him an allowance while he lived, but eighteen months previously his business had failed and the consequent worry had driven him into the grave. His wife had died in giving Lionel birth. After his father's death Lionel perforce had put forth more strenuous efforts. He had even written a novel and sold it for thirty pounds. One or two plays lay in his desk or managers' muniment-chests, and a number of pot-boilers were soliciting the favorable consideration of callous editors. It had been a precarious though interesting existence, but he had kept his head above water until the last few weeks. Now he was standing on the curb in the Strand, wondering amiably what he should do.