“None whatever. Difference of position and all the rest of it. She quite understood. In fact, it was like your Quartier Latin affair.” Jimmie winced. “It was n't the Quartier Latin--and I was going to marry her--only she died before--oh, don't mind me, Morland. What's going to be done now?” Morland shrugged his shoulders again, having palliated himself into a more normal condition. His conscience, to speak by the book, was clothed and in its right mind. “It's infernally hard lines it should come just at this time. You see, I've heaps of things to think about. My position--Parliament--I'm going to contest Cosford in the autumn. If the constituency gets hold of any scandal, I'm ruined. You know the Alpine heights of morality of a British constituency--and there's always some moral scavenger about. And then there's Norma--” “Yes, there's Norma,” said Jimmie, seriously. “It's unpleasant, you see. If she should know--” “It would break her heart,” said Jimmie. Morland started and looked at Jimmie stupidly, his mental faculties for the second paralysed, incapable of grappling with the idea. Was it scathing sarcasm or sheer idiocy? Recovering his wits, he realised that Jimmie was whole-heartedly, childishly sincere. With an effort he controlled a rebellious risible muscle at the corner of his lip. “It would give her great pain,” he said in grave acquiescence. “It's a miserable business,” said Jimmie. Morland paced the studio. Suddenly he stopped. “Should there be any unpleasantness over this, can I rely on your help to pull me through?” “You know you can,” said Jimmie. Morland looked relieved. “May I write a note?” Jimmie pointed to a corner of the long deal table. “You'll find over there all the materials for mending a broken butterfly,” he said sadly. Chapter VI--THE LOVERS PROUD in the make-believe that he was a fashionable groom, the loafer holding Morland's horse touched his ragged hat smartly at his temporary master's approach. “Give him something, Jimmie; I have n't any change,” cried Morland. He mounted and rode away, debonair, with a wave of farewell. Jimmie drew from his pocket the first coin to hand, a florin, and gave it to the loafer, who came down forthwith from his dreams of high estate to commonplace earth, and after the manner of his class adjured the Deity to love the munificent gentleman. The two shillings would bring gladness into the hearts of his sick wife and starving children. Subject to the attestation of the Deity, he put forward as a truth the statement that they had not eaten food for a week. He himself was a hard-working man, but the profession of holding horses in the quiet roads of St. John's Wood was not lucrative.