Mr. Morgan gazed at it with the air of one who is sleep-walking.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "SHE SENT YOU THIS!" WILLIAM SAID GRAVELY.]

"Yes? Er--very kind of her."

"Kinder keep-sake. Souveneer," explained William.

"Yes. Er--any message?"

"Oh, yes. She wants you to come in and see her this evening."

"Er--yes. Of course. I've just come from her. Perhaps she remembered something she wanted to tell me after I'd gone."

"P'raps."

Then, "Any particular time?"

"No. 'Bout seven, I expect."

"Oh, yes."

Mr. Morgan's eyes were fixed with a fascinated wondering gaze upon the limp, and by no means spotless, rose-bud.

"You say she--sent this?"

"Yes."

"And no other message?"

"No."

"Er--well, say I'll come with pleasure, will you?"

"Yes."

Silence.

Then, "She thinks an awful lot of you, Ethel does."

Mr. Morgan pa.s.sed a hand over his brow.

"Yes? Kind--er--very kind, I'm sure."

"Always talkin' about you in her sleep," went on William, warming to his theme. "I sleep in the next room and I can hear her talkin' about you all night. Jus' sayin' your name over and over again. 'Jack Morgan, Jack Morgan, Jack Morgan.'" William's voice was husky and soulful. "Jus'

like that--over an' over again. 'Jack Morgan, Jack Morgan, Jack Morgan.'"

Mr. Morgan was speechless. He sat gazing with horror-stricken face at his young visitor.

"Are you--_sure_?" he said at last. "It might be someone else's name."

"No, 'tisn't," said William firmly. "It's yours. 'Jack Morgan, Jack Morgan, Jack Morgan'--jus' like that. An' she eats just nothin' now.

Always hangin' round the windows to watch you pa.s.s."

The perspiration stood out in beads on Mr. Morgan's brow.

"It's--_horrible_," he said at last in a hoa.r.s.e whisper.

William was gratified. The young man had at last realised his cruelty.

But William never liked to leave a task half done. He still sat on and calmly and silently considered his next statement. Mechanically he put a hand into his pocket and conveyed a Gooseberry Eye to his mouth. Mr.

Morgan also sat in silence with a stricken look upon his face, gazing into vacancy.

"She's got your photo," said William at last, "fixed up into one of those little round things on a chain round her neck."

"Are--you--_sure_?" said Mr. Morgan desperately.

"Sure's fate," said William rising. "Well, I'd better be goin'. She pertic-ler wants to see you alone to-night. Good-bye."

But Mr. Morgan did not answer. He sat huddled up in his chair staring in front of him long after William had gone jauntily on his way. Then he moistened his dry lips.

"Good Lord," he groaned.

William was thinking of the pictures as he went home. That painter one was jolly good. When they all got all over paint! And when they all fell downstairs! William suddenly guffawed out loud at the memory. But what had the painter chap been doing at the very beginning before he began to paint? He'd been getting off the old paint with a sort of torch thing and a knife, then he began putting the new paint on. Just sort of melting the old paint and then sc.r.a.ping it off. William had never seen it done in real life, but he supposed that was the way you did get old paint off. Melting it with some sort of fire, then sc.r.a.ping it off. He wasn't sure whether it was that, but he could find out. As he entered the house he took his penknife from his pocket, opened it thoughtfully, and went upstairs.

Mr. Brown came home about dinner-time.

"How's your head, father?" said Ethel sympathetically.

"Rotten!" said Mr. Brown, sinking wearily into an arm-chair.

"Perhaps dinner will do it good," said Mrs. Brown, "it ought to be ready now."

The housemaid entered the room.

"Mr. Morgan, mum. He wants to see Miss Ethel. I've shown him into the library."

"_Now?_" exploded Mr. Brown. "What the deu--why the d.i.c.kens is the young idiot coming at this time of day? Seven o'clock! What time does he think we have dinner? What does he mean by coming round paying calls on people at dinner time? What----"

"Ethel, dear," interrupted Mrs. Brown, "do go and see what he wants and get rid of him as soon as you can."

Ethel entered the library, carefully closing the door behind her to keep out the sound of her father's comments, which were plainly audible across the hall.

She noticed something wan and haggard-looking on Mr. Morgan's face as he rose to greet her.

"Er--good evening, Miss Brown."

"Good evening, Mr. Morgan."

Then they sat in silence, both awaiting some explanation of the visit.