and docile character."

"You are right; the character would go for much. Never mind, we
won't speak any more of the subject. It was an absurd question to
ask you."

"Nevertheless, you have made me very curious."

"I will tell you more some other time; not now. Tell me about your
own plans. What decision have you come to?"

Waymark professed to have formed no plan whatever. This was not
strictly true. For some months now, ever and again, as often indeed
as he had felt the burden of his schoolwork more than usually
intolerable, his thoughts had turned to the one person who could be
of any assistance to him, and upon whom he had any kind of claim;
that was Abraham Woodstock, his father's old friend. He had held no
communication with Mr. Woodstock for four years; did not even know
whether he was living. But of him he still thought, now that
absolute need was close at hand, and, as soon as Julian Casti had
left him to-day, he examined a directory to ascertain whether the
accountant still occupied the house in St. John Street Road.
Apparently he did. And the same evening Waymark made up his mind to
visit Mr. Woodstock on the following day.

The old gentleman was sitting alone when the servant announced a
visitor. In personal appearance he was scarcely changed since the
visit of his little grand-daughter. Perhaps the eye was not quite so
vivid, the skin on forehead and cheeks a trifle less smooth, but his
face had the same healthy colour; there was the same repose of force