nearest great town where he could be sure of finding a pawnbroker
was distant an hour's train journey.

So on the day before that for which, in spite of hospitable
protestations on the part of Colonel and Miss Winwood, he had fixed
his departure, he set forth on the plea of private business, and
returned with a heavier pocket and a heavier heart. He had been so
proud, poor boy, of the gold insignia across his stomach. He had had
a habit of fingering it lovingly. Now it was gone. He felt naked--
in a curious way dishonoured. There only remained his cornelian
talisman. He got back in time for tea and kept his jacket closely
buttoned. But in the evening he had perforce to appear stark and
ungirt--in those days Fashion had not yet decreed, as it does now,
the absence of watchchain on evening dress--and Paul shambled into
the drawing-room like a guest without a wedding garment. There were
still a few people staying in the house--the shooting party
proper, and Lady Chudley, had long since gone--but enough remained
to be a social microcosm for Paul. Every eye was upon him. In spite
of himself, his accusing hand went fingering the inanity of his
waistcoat front. He also fingered, with a horrible fascination, the
dirty piece of card that took the place of his watch in his pocket.

One must be twenty to realize the tragedy of it. Dans un grenier
qu'on est bien a vingt ans! To be twenty, in a garret, with the
freedom and the joy of it! Yes; the dear poet was right. In those
"brave days" the poignancy of life comes not in the garret, but in
the palace.

To-morrow, with his jacket buttoned, he could make his exit from
Drane's Court in the desired splendour--scattering largesse to