"I see," he said interrogatively; "then you haven’t got your living to earn—you are not tied here any longer? You can direct your own life and take up any line you choose?" "Yes," William assented, pleased with the phrase; "I can direct my own life—certainly." "Which," Faraday suggested, "was difficult for you before?" "Very," said William emphatically. "And," the other went on, "now that you are your own man you wish to take the line that attracts you and be of some use?" "Oh, certainly," William assented again—perhaps a shade less emphatically. So far his ideas had run more upon pleasure than usefulness. Faraday reflected with his chin resting on his hand. "Why have you asked me?" he demanded suddenly—with the accent strongly on the "me." "I know so few people," William explained humbly. "I mean, of course, people who could give me any ideas.... I thought you wouldn’t mind—at least I hoped you wouldn’t.... I know it’s unusual—but if you could help me in any way? ... With suggestions, you know." Again Faraday reflected with his chin resting on his hand. "I could put you," he said at last, "in touch with people who might help you. I should be very pleased to do so.... Of course, I should like to know more of you first—what your views are——" "Of course," William agreed vaguely, puzzled partly by the words and partly by the enigmatic manner. "If you’ve nothing else to do," Faraday continued, "perhaps you’ll come round to my rooms to-night for a talk? Say at half-past eight. We could discuss things more comfortably there." William, still puzzled by the hint of mystery in his manner, murmured that he also should be very pleased, and Faraday gave him the address—returning forthwith to his ledger in sign that he considered the incident closed for the present. He had a distinctly authoritative way with him, and William, who would gladly have continued the subject, had perforce to be content with wondering what the night’s discussion and exchange of "views" would bring forth; an evening spent away from home was so rare an event in his life that the prospect of his visit to Faraday’s rooms afforded him food for an afternoon’s busy speculation. His own domicile being in the region of Camberwell, he did not return to it after office hours but whiled away the time by dinner at an Oxford Street Lyons—secretly glorying in the length of his bill and contrasting his power of spending what he liked with the old days of doled-out allowance. He rang down a sovereign at the pay-desk, gathered up his change and strolled out of the building with an air—and at half-past eight precisely found himself outside Faraday’s lodgings in a mournful side-street in Bloomsbury. A shabby maid-servant ushered him upstairs to a shabby, paper-strewn room where Faraday, pipe in mouth, rose to greet him.