“Caroline, I do not think I deserve this unkindness. He is a collector of second-hand oddities. As a matter of fact, I only lent it.” Caroline tried to keep back the tears: “You are a ridiculous good fellow,” she said; “but you do exasperate me.... What on earth are you going to write upon?” Lovegood looked relieved: “I wrote for an hour in bed this morning,” he said. “It was an intellectual treat. I shall always compose the finer flights of my imagination in bed in future.” Caroline laughed, with a sob in the laugh, and stroked the big fellow’s sleeve affectionately: “No, Eustace--I cannot accept it, old friend.” She dashed the handkerchief to her eyes, and added airily: “Well, well--it’s really very serious--I shall have to wear shabby gowns again. Hush!” She signed for silence. They all listened. There was a shuffling footstep on the landing, and a ridiculous and quavering attempt at a drinking song. The door was flung open and a man, giddy with strong liquors, lurched into the room. He came to an unsteady standstill, blinked at them all, and solemnly took off his hat. “My God!” muttered Caroline Baddlesmere--“it’s Andrew Blotte!” “Here’s poor Mr. Andrew Blotte,” said Julia in a frightened whisper to Noll. “Hullo, Mr. Blotte!” cried Noll from his high perch--“we’ve just been talking about you.” The drunken man sniggered: “Talk of a nightmare--and you hear it hiccup!” said he. But the effort at merriment upset his balance, and he made at a rolling gait for the desk, gripped at it to steady himself, and turning himself very carefully so as to avoid confusing his feet, he sat himself down against the edge of it. His face became a bland smile. His was a splendid head. From the square brow the strong hair sprang like a lion’s mane, and the fine massive head was set on the shoulders in a way that gave a sense of forcefulness in the man. But the once-handsome features were now heavy with drink, their beautiful form was being scarred deep with harsh lines, and the hint of beauty was only a haunting shadow of the thing that had once been. His chin and jowls were sprinkled with a grizzled growth of beard a couple of days old. He waved his hand round the room, and brought it with a strong masterful grip upon the desk on which he leaned. “Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, somewhat shame-facedly--“I had only looked for Anthony Baddlesmere--to find out his new address--but the fact is----” He looked slowly round the room, and his eyes lighted up as he recognised Caroline: “Ah, Caroline!--just the person I would have wished to see. You’ll excuse me maintaining a firm position--here--but the fact is--I’m far from sober.” “Ah, Andrew!” she said, coming to his side.