Fenton, as he recognized him, was a comfortable sight, in spite of his detested identity. He was better than uncertainty. “You have news for me!” Roger cried. “Where is she?” Fenton looked about him at his leisure, feeling, agreeably, that now _he_ held the cards. “Gently,” he said. “Hadn’t we better retire?” Upon which Roger, grasping his arm with grim devotion, led him to his own apartment. “I rather hit it,” George went on. “I am not the fool you once tried to make me seem.” “Where is she,—tell me that!” Roger repeated. “Allow me, dear sir,” said Fenton, settling himself in spacious vantage. “If I have come here to oblige you, you must let me take my own way. You don’t suppose I have rushed to meet you for the pleasure of the thing. I owe it to my cousin, in the first place, to say that I have come without her knowledge.” “If you mean only to torture me,” Roger answered, “say so outright. Is she well? is she safe?” “Safe? the safest creature in the city, sir! A delightful home, maternal care!” Roger wondered whether Fenton was making horrible sport of his trouble; he turned cold at the thought of maternal care of his providing. But he admonished himself to lose nothing by arrogance. “I thank you extremely for your kindness. Nothing remains but that I should see her.” “Nothing, indeed! You are very considerate. You know that she particularly objects to seeing you.” “Possibly! But that is for her to say. I claim the right to take the refusal from her own lips.” Fenton looked at him with an impudent parody of compassion. “Don’t you think you have had refusals enough? You must enjoy them!” Roger turned away with an imprecation, but he continued to swallow his impatience. “Mr. Fenton,” he said, “you have not come here, I know, to waste words, nor have I to waste temper. You see before you a desperate man. Come, make the most of me! I am willing, I am delighted, to be fleeced! You will help me, but not for nothing. Name your terms.” Fenton flinched, but he did not protest; he only gave himself the luxury of swaggering a little. “Well, you see,” he answered, “my assistance is worth something. Let me explain how much. You will never guess! I know your story; Nora has told me everything,—everything! We have had a great talk. Let me give you a little hint of my story,—and excuse egotism! You proposed to her; she refused you. You offered her money, luxury, a position. She knew you, she liked you enormously, yet she refused you flat! Now reflect on this.” There was something revolting to Roger in seeing his adversary profaning these sacred mysteries; he protested. “I _have_ reflected, quite enough. You can tell me nothing. Her affections,” he added stiffly, to make an end of it, “were pre-engaged.”