“I have no idea where Macneillie has gone to,” said Ralph. “He has not played in London for the last six years; somebody told me he had started a Company of his own in the provinces. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to find out, and write to him. Unless our hero-worship threw a very deceptive halo round him, he must be an awfully kind-hearted man. Come! drink to my good fortune, and then like an angel just help me to sort out my things. Tea, and this notion of yours about Macneillie make me feel like a giant refreshed. After all, it will be jolly enough to be on one’s own hook after eating the bitter bread of charity all this time.” “Yet I rather wish you had taken those hank notes,” said Evereld. “How much money have you, Ralph, to start with?” He felt in one pocket and produced a florin. “That will take me to London,” he said. He felt in another and produced half a sovereign, “on that I can live for a week,” he remarked. “And after that?” said Evereld. He shrugged his shoulders. “There are night refuges I believe, where for a penny one can lie in a box and warm oneself with a leather coverlet. And failing these, there is always the Park, where you can enjoy part of a bench without any charge at all.” “Ralph, I’m not going to allow it,” said Evereld, her firm little mouth assuming its most resolute expression. “Do you think I should have let Dick go away to starve upon twelve shillings while I was lapped in luxury? I took you for my brother, the very first night you came, and I’m not going to give you up, whatever you say.” She unlocked her desk and took out four sovereigns. “This is all I have left of my allowance; I wish it were bank notes like the ones you refused. But you can’t refuse mine, Ralph.” He hesitated. “I don’t think I ought to take them,” he said. “Why not?” “The world would be shocked. What right have I to your money?” “Every right, since we belong to each other. And as to the world it has nothing whatever to do with the matter. Don’t waste time, Ralph. Please take it for my sake.” He could not resist the blue eyes brimming with tears, but let her place the money in his hand and gave her a brotherly hug. Then they hastily began to collect his possessions, talking bravely of the future, and many times alluding to their old hero Macneillie. In the meantime in Geraghty’s pantry two other friends were colloguing; Bridget having learnt the fate that was to befall her young gentleman was opening her heart to her elderly _fiancé_. “It’s turnin’ of him out that they’re after,” she said indignantly, “And him a fine handsome boy and knowin’ just nothin’ of the world. Sure thin, Geraghty, it’s a sin, it’s just a mortal sin, and him without connictions, let alone relations.” “Where will he be goin’?” asked Geraghty thoughtfully. “I heard them say he was goin’ to London, and you know what that will be meanin’ when a boy’s got neither money nor friends to keep him in the right way. It breaks me heart to think of it.”