“I did not grasp that it was so serious, Lovegood.... I will--drop in one day--and--see if something cannot be done----” He saw the smile of contempt move the pale heavy features of Eustace Lovegood as he shrugged his huge shoulders, and, with an exhaustive snort of disgust, strode slowly out of the room. The door closed after him with a loud resounding slam, rattled on its hinges, and was still. Pangbutt stood brooding with frowning eyes fixed upon it: He shrugged his shoulders: “Lovegood never loses the grand manner,” he thought, “even when he has no necktie. Damnation! the Past seems never to be buried.... We think the day is dead because we blowout the candle and lie down at night. We forget the world’s the same--’tis we that sleep. Tush! the Past is never dead--until it’s our winding-sheet----” He saw himself reflected in a large mirror. He gazed at the well-groomed man of the world that stood there in the mirrored make-believe room, solid as he; and he laughed bitterly as it came to him that this dandified spruce shadow that mimicked his magnificence had thought to shake off at a wish the years of sordid striving together with the Things that had been Done and Rejected and--Forsaken!... Tshah; he had been congratulating this spruce fellow upon it only a few minutes gone by--thanking his most gentlemanly star that he had done with the whole gang. And to-day--they were pushing stealthily at his doors, creeping into his magnificent home, nay, bursting into his life again--thrusting jeering faces into his, whether he would or not. Indeed, his smug shadow sneered at him--for behind the well-bred silence of his old comrades was the knowledge of his low origin--and he had no pride in aught but hiding what had been to a bigger man his source of pride. Perhaps he ought to help--for decency’s sake; but---- Strange--these were the very people who had given him his chance in life. But for them, he had still been a mediocrity in Paris. But why should he have the whole crew “hail-fellow”? If a man is to rise above the crowd he must stand alone--be rid of encumbrances---- He started: A door slammed below. There was the loud noise of a gathering tumult without. It was coming up the stairs--his stairs! “Curse it! is all Bedlam abroad to-night?” said he. He strode angrily towards the uproar beyond the great folding doors; but they were flung open, and there entered a gust of loud laughter and the shuffle of many feet upon the stairs. CHAPTER VIII _Wherein it is discovered that the Strength of Genius may lie in the Hair_ With a loud shout of laughter there burst riotously into the room several young fellows, pushing before them the indignant and expostulating Lovegood. A shock-headed fellow, Rippley the sculptor, dressed with the picturesque carelessness of an art student, left the others, advanced to their scowling host, and said breezily: