"Is it an understood thing that you retire at that hour?" Train shook his head and drew in his chair. "By no means. I have sat up till two before now. But on this night Mrs. Jersey wants the house to be considered respectable, and therefore asked me to retire early. Perhaps it's on account of you, old man." Here he smiled in an amused manner. "She hopes to get you as a boarder." "I wouldn't come here for the world," retorted Brendon, with quite unnecessary violence. "Why not? Have some tongue!" "Thanks," responded George, passing his plate. "Because I don't like the house, and I don't care for Mrs. Jersey." "Why did you advise me to come here, then?" asked Train, pouring out a glass of claret. "Well, you wanted something in the style of Dickens, and this was the only place I knew." "How did you know about it?" George deliberated for a moment, and then fastened his eyes on his plate. "I lived here once," he said in a low voice. "Dear me," gasped Train, "what an extraordinary thing." "Why so? One must live somewhere." "But you didn't like Mrs. Jersey." "She was not here then." "Who was here?" "My grandfather on the mother's side. That's fifteen years ago." Leonard looked at the handsome, moody face of his friend, musingly. "I never knew you had a grandfather," he said at last. "Do you know anything at all about me?" asked Brendon. "No. Now I come to think of it, I don't. I met you three years ago at Mrs. Ward's house, and we have been friends ever since." "Acquaintances, rather. Men are not friends until they become confidential with one another. Well, Train," George pushed back his chair and wiped his mouth, "to-night I intend to turn you from a mere acquaintance into a friend." "I shall be delighted," said Train, rather bewildered. "Won't you have more supper?" Brendon shook his head, lighted his pipe, and again stretched himself on the sofa. Train, being curious to know what he had to say, was on the point of joining him. But he was yet hungry, so could not bring himself to leave the table. He therefore continued his supper, and, as Brendon seemed disinclined to talk, held his peace. Train's parents were dead, and had left him a snug little income of five thousand a year. Not being very strong-minded, and being more than a trifle conceited as to his literary abilities, his money speedily attracted round him a number of needy hangers-on, who flattered him to the top of his bent. They praised him to his face, sneered at him behind his back; ate his meat, borrowed his money, and kept him in a fools' paradise regarding human nature. Poor Leonard thought that all women were angels, and all men good fellows with a harmless tendency to borrow. Such a Simple Simon could not but be the prey of every scoundrel in London, and it said much for his moral nature that he touched all this pitch without being defiled. He was called a fool by those he fed, but none could call him a rogue.