The people were beginning to disperse, among much laughter and gossip. Ella had lingered on an imploring sign from Roderick. Urquhart stifled a yawn and buttoned his frock-coat. “My dear fellow,” said he, from the heights of his superior culture, “if you would only study Pradovitch,---- the one genius this century has produced,--study him as I have done, you would not fail to be convinced that Art is the leprosy of life.” For once Roderick lost his temper. An evil look came into his face. “What a God-forsaken fool you are!” he snarled out. And turning on his heel he joined Ella. The young man turned to Lord Eglington. “That's the worst of having to do with such _canaille_,” he said languidly. But in spite of his assumption of supercilious indifference, his face wore a malignant expression as he watched Roderick and his companion disappear through the doorway. At the door however, Roderick's indignation evaporated. It is no doubt an immense satisfaction to tell a posturing imbecile exactly what you, think of him, but when you have misappropriated a couple of thousands of that imbecile's money without any reasonable prospect of restoring it, the satisfaction is apt to be short lived. Roderick and Ella gained the street without saying a word. A cab sauntered up. “Will you--?” began Roderick. “I would sooner walk part of the way. Do you mind?” “Delighted,” said Roderick. “The room was so hot,” she explained, “and it is a beautiful afternoon.” They walked down Park Lane in silence, hanging dejected heads, a new Adam and Eve driven from Eden. Now and then she glanced sideways at him, to see his brow set and deep lines descending parallel with his moustache and losing themselves in his beard. His defeat seemed to have crushed him. Ella felt a pang of pity. She touched his arm lightly. “You must not take it too much to heart,” she said. “I must,” he replied, with a gesture of despair. “To think it should have all gone down like a house of cards!” They crossed the road and entered the Park. The grey mists of the early December afternoon were beginning to gather among the trees. Far off a great crimson blur announced the setting sun. To their right the statue of Achilles loomed grimly on its deserted hillock. Roderick pointed to it with his stick. “Do you remember that Sunday afternoon six months ago, when all was hope and sunshine?” “Redmayne had just joined,” she remarked. “And to-day he took the chair, so as to crush us. They had it all arranged beforehand. A damnable conspiracy! And we were powerless. It maddens me!” His tones were those of intense feeling Ella was compelled to comfort. “You fought splendidly,” she said. “A man can't do more.” He stopped abruptly in the path and laid both hands on her wrists by her muff. A belated nursery maid wheeling a perambulator eyed them dully. “Bless you for the words! You cannot tell what your sympathy means to me now.”