"Come," she said, "let us talk about yourself now. What are you going to do?"

"To do?" he repeated, vaguely. "Why--"

"About your health, of course. You admitted a few minutes ago that you had been to see your doctor."

"Why--I suppose I must ease up a little."

"Of course you must. When will you come and dine quietly with us in Berkeley Square, and go to the theatre?"

He shook his head.

"It is kind of you," he said, "but--"

"When will you come and have tea with me, then?"

He set his teeth. He had done his best.

"Whenever you choose to ask me," he answered, with a sort of dogged resignation.

She looked at him half curiously, half tenderly.

"You are so much changed," she murmured, "since those days at Enton.

You were a boy then, although you were a thoughtful one--now you are a man, and when you speak like that, an old man. Come, I want the other Mr. Brooks."

He sat quite still. Perhaps at that moment of detachment he realized more keenly than ever the withering nature of this battle through which he had passed. Indeed, he felt older. Those days at Enton lay very far back, yet the girl by his side made him feel as though they had been but yesterday. He glanced at her covertly. Gracious, fresh, and as beautiful as the spring itself. What demon of mischief had possessed her that she should, with all her army of admirers, her gay life, her host of pleasures, still single him out in this way and bring back to his memory days which he had told himself he had wholly forgotten? She was not of the world of his adoption, she belonged to the things which he had forsworn.

"The other Mr. Brooks," he murmured, "is dead. He has been burned in the furnace of this last wonderful year. That is why I think--I fear it is no use your looking for him--and you would not wish to have a stranger to tea with you."

"That," she said, "is ingenious, but not convincing. So you will please come to-morrow at four o'clock. I shall stay in for you.

"At four o'clock," he repeated, helplessly.

Lady Caroom waved to them from the path.

"Sybil, come here at once," she exclaimed, "and bring Mr. Brooks with you. Dear me, what troublesome people you have been to find. I am very glad indeed to see you again."

She looked Brooks in the face as she held his hand, and With a little start he realized that she knew.

"You most quixotic of young men," she exclaimed, "come home with us at once, and explain how you dared to avoid us all this time. What a ghost you look. I hope it is your conscience. Don't pretend you can't sit with your back to the horse, but get in there, sir, and--James, the little seat--and make yourself as comfortable as you can. Home, James!

Upon my word, Mr. Brooks, you look like one of those poor people whom you have been working for in the slums. If starvation was catching, I should think that you had caught it. You must try my muffins."

Sybil caught his eye, and laughed.

"Mother hasn't altered much, has she?" she asked.

CHAPTER II

MR. LAVILETTE INTERFERES

"What is this Kingston Brooks' affair that Lavilette has hold of now?"

yawned a man over his evening papers. "That fellow will get into trouble if he doesn't mind."

"Some new sort of charity down in the East End," one of the little group of club members replied. "Fellow has a lot of branches, and tries to make 'em a sort of family affair. He gets a pile of subscriptions, and declines to publish a balance-sheet. Lavilette seems to think there's something wrong somewhere."

"Lavilette's such a suspicious beggar," another man remarked. "The thing seems all right. I know people who are interested in it, who say it's the most comprehensive and common-sense charity scheme of the day."

"Why doesn't he pitch into Lavilette, then? Lavilette's awfully insulting. Brooks the other day inserted an acknowledgment in the papers of the receipt of one thousand pounds anonymous. You saw what Lavilette said about it?"

"No. What?"

"Oh, he had a little sarcastic paragraph--declined to believe that Brooks had ever received a thousand pounds anonymously--challenged him to give the number of the note, and said plainly that he considered it a fraud.

There's been no reply from Brooks."

"How do you know?"

"This week's Verity. Here it is!"

"We have received no reply from Mr. Kingston Brooks up to going to press with respect to our remark concerning the thousand pounds alleged to have been received by him from an anonymous giver. We may add that we scarcely expected it. Yet there is another long list of acknowledgments of sums received by Mr. Brooks this morning. We are either the most credulous nation in the world, or there are a good many people who don't know what to do with their money. We should like to direct their attention to half-a-dozen excellent and most deserving charities which we can personally recommend, and whose accounts will always stand the most vigorous examination."

"H'm! That's pretty strong," the first speaker remarked. "I should think that that ought to stay the flow of subscriptions."

Lord Arranmore, who was standing on the hearthrug smoking a cigarette, joined languidly in the conversation.

You think that Brooks ought to take some notice of Lavilette's impudence, then?"

"Well, I'm afraid his not doing so looks rather fishy," the first speaker remarked. "That thousand pounds note must have been a sort of a myth."

"I think not," Lord Arranmore remarked, quietly. "I ought to know, for I sent it myself,"

Every man straightened himself in his easy-chair. There was a little thrill of interest.

"You're joking, Arranmore."

"Not I! I've sent him three amounts--anonymously."

"Well, I'd no idea that sort of thing was in your line," one of the men exclaimed.

"More it is," Arranmore answered. "Personally, I don't believe in charity--in any modern application of it at any rate. But this man Brooks is a decent sort."

"You know who Brooks is, then?"

"Certainly. He was my agent for a short time in Medchester."

Mr. Hennibul, who was one of the men sitting round, doubled his copy of Verity up and beat the air with it.