‘It’s a dreadfully respectable little place,’ he said. ‘Tidy--not a thing out of order. Could you imagine a comfortable pipe and glass here? And I know how he would look at me. It makes a difference when it’s a relation. A poor man off the streets is the sort of thing you can be kind to without derogation--but not a--father. I’m not the sort of father for a man. A little boy like my little chap wouldn’t mind; but a fine, respectable young man! And women don’t mind so much--that is, some women. How old is your Edie, Montressor, and what sort of a girl?’ ‘Sixteen, and an angel,’ said the actor, ‘and dances like one: and she’s the prop of me house.’ ‘Sixteen--you must take me to Edie. Sixteen’s too young to ask many questions: and when it dances besides! But you’ve got a wife?’ ‘She’s an angel too, May.’ ‘It’s you that are lucky, Montressor. I wonder if I’ve still got a wife? She was a sort of an arch-angel, don’t you know, too high-minded, too grand for the like of me. I wonder if she’s alive. Yes, she must be alive. Nobody but she would have sent me that money without a word. Perhaps, Montressor, it’s her he’s gone to consult.’ ‘Never mind, me friend. Let’s think no more of them. Let’s go away.’ ‘It will be so,’ said May, as if speaking to himself; ‘his mother--that master of his said. Confound all jealous masters, he will cause me a deal of trouble getting those things back. Ay, the mother! she’ll tell him everything, she’ll not spare the old riotous good-for-nothing--his father!’ Here the voice changed. ‘A father like me,’ he added, ‘isn’t for a young man, Montressor; you’re right in what you say. I’d do for a boy, a little fellow like my own little chap. He and I could go away together where nobody ever heard of us. Get a little farm in the country, perhaps, and a spade, and--that sort of thing: and the poor little beggar would never know. But for a man that is respectability itself, and all that---- No, no, you’re right, Montressor. Take me to your angel that dances, and the other one--what does she do?--perhaps she sings.’ He burst forth into a tremulous, broken laugh. ‘Two angels--instead of my own little chap. You’re right, Montressor. Don’t let us wait for the poor boy that’s coming back broken-hearted. Who knows, if I weren’t such a good-for-nothing, if I weren’t such a reckless fool, I might be broken-hearted too.’ ‘Me poor friend!’ the actor cried, ‘as long as I have a roof over me head, come; it’s but a poor place, but ye’ll be welcome. Montressor’s door is never shut against trouble and sorrow. And when ye see me Edie dance--and she’ll dance to ye as if ye were a crowned head--ye’ll forget everything.’ ‘Ah, I’ll forget everything,’ said the other; he added, musing, ‘I’ll do that easy, whether or no.’ CHAPTER IX. THE FIRST SHOCK.