Kenyon made no movement. He looked with a pitying smile at the two boys as they stood eye to eye. The whole thing sounded to him like a fairy tale and for a moment he wondered whether Graham was not endeavoring to obtain their sympathy under false pretences. Then he made up his mind that Graham--like the man with whom he had lived at Oxford--was green also, for all that he had knocked about in New York for two years. Not from any kindness of heart, but simply because he wanted to use Graham as a means of introducing him to the young male wealthy set of the city, he determined to get him out somehow or other of this disastrous entanglement. He would however go to work tactfully without allowing Graham to think that he had made a complete fool of himself. He knew that if he wounded this boy's vanity and brought him down from his heroic pedestal he would set his teeth, put his back to the wall and refuse to be assisted. With keen insight he could see that this incident was likely to injure the usefulness of his visit to America. "Um!" he said. "It's a pitiful story, Graham. You behaved devilish well, old boy. Not many men would have acted so quickly and so unselfishly. Now, sit down and tell me a few things." Gladly enough Graham did so, heaving a great sigh. He was glad that he had made a clear breast of all this. He was too young to keep it a secret. He wanted sympathy urgently and a little human help. Peter loaded and lit a pipe and drew his chair into the group. "This girl Ita What's-her-name loves you, of course?" Graham nodded. "Anyone could see that," said Peter. "But she'd been in that studio some time before you came along, I take it,--I mean she'd been anybody's property for the asking?" Graham shuddered. "I hate to think so," he said. Peter kicked the leg of the nearest chair. "How d'you feel?" asked Kenyon. "Awfully sorry for her," said Graham. "Yes, of course. What I mean is, are you all right?" Graham looked puzzled. "I find it rather difficult to pay for everything," he said, "especially as I've been damned unlucky lately." The man of the world involuntarily raised his eyebrows. "Good Lord!" he said to himself. "And this boy is the son of a specialist. Blind--blind!" Then he spoke aloud, passing on to another point. "How long do you think it is incumbent upon you to make yourself the guardian of this girl?" Graham shrugged his shoulders. "She comes from Poland. Her father and mother are dead and she has no one to look after her." "I'll help you," said Peter.