"He came into my room one day," answered Laurence, "just as I was leaving it. He was white and his lips trembled in a boyish way that struck me at the moment as being rather awful. He looked as if he had been knocked down. He said to me, 'Mr. Arbuthnot, I've lost my place,' and then, after staring at me a few seconds, he added, 'Mr. Arbuthnot, what would you do?'" "It is very cruel," said Agnes. "It is very hard." "It is as cruel as Death!" said Arbuthnot. "It is as hard as Life! That such a thing is possible--that the bread and home and hopes of any honest, human creature should be used as the small change of power above him, and trafficked with to sustain that power and fix it in its place to make the most of itself and its greed, is the burning shame and burden which is slung around our necks, and will keep us from standing with heads erect until we are lightened of it." He discovered that he was in earnest, and recklessly allowed himself to continue in earnest until he had said his say. He knew the self-indulgence was indiscreet, and felt the indiscretion all the more when he ended and found himself confronted by Mrs. Sylvestre's eyes. They were fixed upon him, and wore an expression he had never had the pleasure of seeing in them before. It was an expression full of charming emotion, and the color was coming and going in her cheek. "Go on," she said, rather tremulously, "if you please." "I did not go on," he replied. "I regret to say I couldn't. I was unable to tell him what I should do." "But you tried to comfort him?" said Agnes. "I am sure you did what you could." "It was very little," said Laurence. "I let him talk, and led him on a little to--well, to talking about his wife. It seemed the only thing at the moment. I found it possible to recall to his mind one or two things he had told me of her,--probably doing it in a most inefficient manner,--but he appeared to appreciate the effort. The idea presented itself to me that it would be well to brace him up and give him a less deathly look before he went home to her, as she was not very well, and a childish creature at best. I probably encouraged him unduly; but I had an absurd sense of being somehow responsible for the preservation of the two rooms and the peace of mind of the female infant, and the truth is, I have felt it ever since, and so has she." He was extremely conscious of Mrs. Sylvestre's soft and earnest eyes.