"Never--and don't want to! If I become famous--which I _will_ do,"--and here Angus set his teeth hard--"I'll make my bow at one of Mrs. Millionaire Helmsley's receptions one day! And how will she look then!" "I should say she would look much the same as usual,"--said Helmsley, drily--"If she is the kind of young woman you describe, she is not likely to be overcome by the sight of a merely 'famous' man. You would have to be twice or three times as wealthy as herself to move her to any sense of respect for you. That is, if we are to judge by what our newspapers tell us of 'society' people. The newspapers are all we poor folk have got to go by." "Yes--I've often thought of that!" and Angus rubbed his forehead again in a vigorous way as though he were trying to rub ideas out of it--"And I've pitied the poor folks from the bottom of my heart! They get pretty often misled--and on serious matters too." "Oh, we're not all such fools as we seem,"--said Helmsley--"We can read between the lines as well as anyone--and we understand pretty clearly that it's only money which 'makes' the news. We read of 'society ladies' doing this, that and t' other thing, and we laugh at their doings--and when we read of a great lady conducting herself like an outcast, we feel a contempt for her such as we never visit on her poor sister of the streets. The newspapers may praise these women, but we 'common people' estimate them at their true worth--and that is--nothing! Now the girl you made an ideal of----" "She was to be bought and sold,"--interrupted Reay; "I know that now. But I didn't know it then. She looked a sweet innocent angel,--with a pretty face and beautiful eyes--just the kind of creature we men fall in love with at first sight----" "The kind of creature who, if you had married her, would have made you wretched for life,"--said Helmsley. "Be thankful you escaped her!" "Oh, I'm thankful enough now!" and Reay pushed back his rebellious lock of hair again--"For when one has a great ambition in view, freedom is better than love----" Helmsley raised his wrinkled, trembling hand. "No, don't say that!" he murmured, gently--"Nothing--nothing in all the world is better than love!" Involuntarily his eyes turned towards Mary with a strange wistfulness. There was an unspoken yearning in his face that was almost pain. Her quick instinctive sympathy responded to his thought, and rising, she went to him on the pretext of re-arranging the cushion in his chair, so that he might lean back more comfortably. Then she took his hand and patted it kindly. "You're a sentimental old boy, aren't you, David!" she said, playfully--"You like being taken care of and fussed over! Of course you do! Was there ever a man that didn't!" He was silent, but he pressed her caressing hand gratefully. "No one has ever taken care of or fussed over _me_," said Reay--"I should rather like to try the experiment!" Mary laughed good-humouredly.