"George, old fellow, you can't imagine what a joy it was to see you at that place to-night! You haven't realised it yet--you don't know what I went through before I plucked up courage to speak to you. You're the only living creature I used to know that I _can_ know now--the only one--the only one on earth. I know them, but I daren't--daren't--let them know me. It gets very, very, very lonely sometimes----" Lonely sometimes! My heart ached for him. It seemed to me that that loneliness was a gulf that all the pity in the universe could not fill. No, I had not realised. I had thought I had, but I hadn't. It now came quite home to me that, while he was free to make a new acquaintance at any moment he pleased, that acquaintance could hardly last longer than the moment in which it was made. For say it lasted for three weeks. At the end of those three weeks the hand he had taken would be three weeks older, but his own hand might be a hundred weeks younger. And so it must go on: hail--and farewell. He, beyond measure gifted, was denied this gift. He could not stop by the way to make a single friend. For others the calm and gentle progress to age, the greetings among themselves, the accosting by the loved familiar name; but Derwent Rose had no name. Without a name Daphne Bassett had set a dog on him; what would she have set on him had he said "I'm Derwent Rose"? Lightning was safer to handle than that name of his. It might miss--but it might hit, make mad, kill. Sooner or later, I supposed, I should have to tell him that Julia Oliphant knew as much about his state as I knew myself. I had had no shadow of right to betray him to her thus. But in the meantime he was resolved that he would not turn that voltage of his identity either on to her or anybody else. III In its way, one of the most singular portions of our conversation occurred when I asked him how he was placed as regards money. After all he must have money. Even a man who lives his life backwards must eat and have his boots soled, and pay twenty-five shillings a week for a loft over a garage. At first he seemed reluctant to answer me. "I'm afraid I ran through rather a lot just at first," he said hesitatingly--his first admission that he had not inhabited Trenchard's garret for the whole of the time since I had last seen him. "But that will be all right. I can make lots of money." "How?" ("Not by that book of yours," I said emphatically to myself.) "Oh, you needn't worry about that. I assure you I can. I've thought it all out most carefully." "I wish you'd tell me." Then, eagerly, jerkily, he unfolded his maddest idea yet.