She repeated the address, but I knew it took no hold on her memory. "Ah yes; the Hotel Mary Chilton. I think I've heard of it. But I haven't many minutes, and you must tell me all you can about dear Hugh." As my anxiety on Hugh's account was deepening, I was the more eager to do as I was bid. I said he had found no employment as yet, and that in my opinion employment would be hard to secure. If he was willing to work for a year or two for next to nothing, as he would consider the salary, he might eventually learn the financial trade; but to expect that his name would be a key to open the door of any bank at which he might present himself was preposterous. I hadn't been able to convince him of that, however, and he was still hoping. But he was hoping with a sad, worried face that almost broke my heart. "And how is he off for money?" I said I thought his bank-account was running low. He made no complaint of that to me, but I noticed that he rarely now went to any of his clubs, and that he took his meals at the more inexpensive places. In taxis, too, he was careful, and in tickets for the theater. These were the signs by which I judged. Her eyes had the sweet mistiness I remembered from our last meeting. "I can let him have money--as much as he needs." I considered this. "But it would be Mr. Brokenshire's money, wouldn't it?" "It would be money Mr. Brokenshire gives me." "In that case I don't think Hugh could accept it. You see, he's trying to make himself independent of his father, so as to do what his father doesn't like." "But he can't starve." "He must either starve, or earn a living, or go back to his father and--give up." "Does that mean that you won't marry him unless he has money of his own?" "It means what I've said more than once before--that I can't marry him if he has no money of his own, unless his family come and ask me to do it." There was a little furrow between her brows. "Oh, well, they won't do that. I would," she hastened to add, "because--" she smiled, like an angel--"because I believe in love; but they wouldn't." "I think Mrs. Rossiter would," I argued, "if she was left free." "She might; and, of course, there's Mildred. She'd do anything for Hugh, though she thinks . . . but neither Jack nor Pauline would give in; and as for Mr. Brokenshire--I believe it would break his heart." "Why should he feel toward me like that?" I demanded, bitterly. "How am I inferior to Pauline Gray, except that I have no money?" "Well, I suppose in a way that's it. It's what Mr. Brokenshire calls the solidarity of aristocracies. They have to hold together." "But aristocracy and money aren't one." As she rose she smiled again, distantly and dreamily. "If you were an American, dear Miss Adare, you'd know."