"I knew what your answer would be," said Brian. "I don't want you to think--oh, I don't know quite how to express it--but I don't want you to think that I'm afraid of the future; I'll make as good a fight of it as any one, perhaps better. Only there's an element in me that isn't quite--well, not quite a manly one--something of the feminine, I mean; it makes me long for sympathy and a friend's face and what-not. And that was why, although you're only a boy, I was somehow rather looking forward to your being in London; we might have seen something of each other occasionally; at all events, it would have been good to know that you were near at hand. However, you've got your own life to live, and you're going to have a good time--and so am I, for the matter of that." He threw back his head, crossed his hands behind it, and laughed softly. "It's only this cursed want of money----There, I'm behaving like a blackguard again, so we'll change the subject. Let's talk--oh, of anything else." The flimsy banknotes in Comethup's pocket seemed to weigh heavier than lead; he thought miserably of all the luxury with which he was surrounded, of the bowing servants, the costly furniture, the carriages, everything that was his for the raising of a finger. And it seemed harder than ever that Brian--so gentle, so cheerful, so willing to take the rough with the smooth--should have presently to go out into the world and fight desperately for actual food. He plunged his hand into his pocket and pulled out the bundle of notes, and spoke in a choking voice, "Brian--I--I say--Brian----" Brian, who had been gazing meditatively at the ceiling, looked across at him, suddenly leaned forward, with his elbows on the table and his chin on his palms, and spoke in a surprised tone. "Why, Comethup, what's the matter, boy?" "Look here, Brian"--he sunk his voice to a whisper and looked round apprehensively--"I can't take--take all this money, and know that you--that you haven't a penny, or scarcely a penny, in the world. You see, Brian, anything might happen to you. Why, you might actually starve! It would be horrible. You know I have a great deal more--lots more than I can possibly want. No one would know anything about it, I promise you. Won't you take them?" He thrust the notes across the table and pushed them against Brian's sleeve. Brian changed the position of his head, lowering it so that his face was hidden by his hands. Comethup saw emotion in the attitude, and pressed the notes harder upon him. If he could have seen behind the hand, he would have known that Brian's dark eyes had suddenly lighted up with satisfaction, and that his mouth was working suspiciously, almost as though he were trying to repress a smile. When, however, after a moment or two he took his hand from his face and looked across at the boy, his expression was grave enough, and his mouth was firm with determination. He shook his head solemnly.