“I could wish I was as privileged as you to take a comical view of it. It is only a small debt, however. A matter of twenty pounds. I have still ten left of the fifty you so kindly lent to me the other day--I wonder, Mrs. Avalon, I wonder if you could by any chance help me with the rest? I should be so grateful.” So she had been right about him, after all! He would not have come again, in the ordinary way. She looked into his eyes, and they were as the eyes of other men. The cavalier of the streets was without his sneer. “Yes,” she said gravely. “A debt of honour--surely you must pay a debt of honour, O cavalier of the streets! It is very commendable in you to want to.” “It is merely good sense, madam. Like all matters of honour. If one does not pay, one does not get paid.” Her fingers were playing within her bag. They ceased. “I’m so afraid,” she murmured, “that I have only a few shillings....” “Pity!” whispered the shabby young man; and he smiled curiously, as might a man whose horse has been beaten by a short head. “I will go home,” said Fay Avalon, “and get you the money.” “You will do nothing of the sort, Mrs. Avalon. Ridiculous to put you to that trouble for a mere ten pounds. Besides, it might cause comment if I showed myself at your door again.” “My butler thought you charming,” she told him gravely. “Therein he discerned your influence over me, Mrs. Avalon. No, I have a better idea! Go back to Prince Shuvarov and ask him to----” “But he is so poor!” “Heavens, those insufferable drawings of his must sometimes fetch some money! Try, please. It is only fair, after all, that he should contribute a little towards my support----” “Your debt of honour, surely!” “I am rebuked. A man’s honour would be very adequately preserved by you, Mrs. Avalon. But please do as I suggest. I will abide by the weight of Shuvarov’s pocket.” With a quick gesture, she left him. She found Shuvarov preparing to shave, for when he was dining out he always shaved twice, like all proper men. She did not give him time to voice his surprise at her re-entrance. “That wretch is here again,” she explained swiftly. “I know you are poor, dear, but have you just a few pounds you could lend me? Ten, for instance?” Shuvarov began furiously, his cheeks mantling. “That man....” He waved his shaving-brush. “Never mind that now, dear. Have you or haven’t you the money? Please, Nicholas?” She was always gentle with him. He was such a child. Nicholas Pavlovitch shrugged his shoulders, and banged down the shaving-brush. “You are encouraging him,” he said fatalistically. “Lucky I sold a drawing for just that amount to-day. Lucky for that man, I mean.” He fumbled in his waistcoat pocket, and gave her a banknote. “Bless you, Nicholas!” she cried softly, and was going, when the light fell on the banknote in her hand so that there was visible on it a little splash as of red ink....