"Yes, Jennie's people," I said again. "I suppose you want to know about them?" I saw no harm in reminding him, at any rate, that however great things might be happening to him, minor but still important ones were happening simultaneously elsewhere. Even when you start a new life under the shadow of an old one you cannot entirely escape the world and its ordinary responsibilities. "Of course we do," he said, surprised. "I'm going to them the moment things are shipshape again." "You may see them even sooner than that. I need hardly tell you I shall have to wire to them immediately." He sighed a little. "Well, I suppose the music's got to be faced," he said quietly. "You're not going to try to give me the slip, are you?" Again the surprised look. "Of course not. What have I just been telling you? That's the whole idea. If all goes as it is going a couple of days might put the stopper on this memory business once for all. Then we shall go to them at once. I want to get it over." I looked around the room again. Practically upon the window-sill of it somebody across the street was preparing for bed. In order to get to that upper chamber of theirs at all one had to pass through the public room downstairs. Everything about the place sighed with age and indefinable odour; one knew not what mould, what sweating life, what "silver fishes," those tired old walls did not harbour. I don't think I am too fastidious, but that was no place for that jonquil, Jennie Aird. "Look here, Derry," I said suddenly, "if it's a fair question, how much money have you got?" He looked serious. "Awfully little I'm afraid. And I don't know where I'm going to get any either." "Haven't you any--put away anywhere?" "No." "What have you been living on?" "What's left of that five hundred francs you were so good as to lend me--that and a couple of sketches I sold to a fellow at St Briac. I'm afraid you'll have to wait for that five hundred, Sir George." "Let me see. When did I lend it to you?" "While I was at St Briac, you remember." He had forgotten it was his own money. I rose from the corn-bin. "Very well. You say you're not going to give me the slip, and that you're going to Jennie's people the moment things are all right. Will you as a first step settle up here and come along with me to my hotel now? You came here to lie doggo. That's all over. This is no place for either of you." He blushed with embarrassment. He hesitated. But evidently the problem had been worrying him, for he looked frankly up. "I will on one condition, Sir George. That is that it's added to the five hundred. I shall be selling my sketches presently if you can wait a bit. You're quite right; Jennie oughtn't to be here. But I hope the Poste isn't too expensive. I shall have to pay you back sooner or later."