"Yes, I can believe that," she said softly, and covered her face again. "But how long has it been going on?" "Well, I believe we were in temporary difficulties soon after my young nephew left school. My eccentric sister--generous soul--had placed large sums of money in the boy's hands, while we were actually on the verge of starvation. Comethup came to our rescue; he has been coming to our rescue periodically ever since." "Then this house, these pictures, the carriage in which I ride, this dress"--she struck herself fiercely on the breast--"all were bought with--with his money? Is that so?" "Practically, that _is_ so. You see, poetry, however good and however conducive to fame, is practically a drug in the market; there is no great income to be made from it. Consequently, other means of support became necessary and were fortunately at hand. I don't suppose Brian's personal income has been a tenth part of what we have been spending. That's the melancholy fact. And now everything has gone from us." "Then I understand that we--these payments have ceased?" she said slowly. "Entirely ceased. My poor nephew is no longer in a position to assist us; he has lost his aunt's favour, and like ourselves has been cast upon an unsympathetic world." "Do you know how that happened?" she asked drearily. Mr. Robert Carlaw decided under the delicate circumstances to lie. "No," he replied, "I do not know. My worthy sister is, as I have suggested, eccentric, and one never knows from hour to hour what whim or fancy may seize her. No, I am not aware of the circumstances." "So what I'm to understand is this: that the man who has helped us so long being now himself a beggar, we are reduced to beggary; and Brian"--her voice broke and she turned her head away--"Brian seeks some one else who can support him. Are those the facts?" "Crudely, those are the facts," replied Mr. Carlaw. "I have been told that it is useless to attempt to govern genius by the ordinary laws to which smaller humanity is subject, and so we must take my misguided son as we find him and make the best of him. From the world's point of view he has, like his unfortunate parent, gone to the devil--but the world in his case will not, I think, judge him hardly. The question that remains for us is, What shall we do?"