to have seen that thing. I can't stand it."

"My dear boy," she said, coming a little nearer, "I don't think the
worse of you for that. On the contrary, I admire your pluck and your
brave attitude towards life. Indeed I do. I respect you for it. Do
you remember the old Italian story of Ser Federigo and his falcon?
How he hid his poverty like a knightly gentleman? You see what I
mean, don't you? You mustn't be angry with me!"

Her words were Gilead balm of instantaneous healing.

"Angry?"

His voice quavered. In a revulsion of emotion he turned blindly,
seized her hand and kissed it. It was all he could do.

"If I have found it out--not just now," she quickly interjected,
seeing him wince, "but long ago--it was not your fault. You've
made a gallant gentleman's show to the end--until I come, in a
perfectly brutal way, and try to upset it. Tell me--I'm old enough
to be your mother, and you must know by this time that I'm your
friend--have you any resources at all--beyond--?" She made
ever so slight a motion of her hand toward the hidden pawn ticket.

"No," said Paul, with his sure tact and swiftly working imagination.
"I had just come to an end of them. It's a silly story of losses and
what-not--I needn't bother you with it. I thought I would walk to
London, with the traditional half-crown in my pocket"--he flashed
a wistful smile--"and seek my fortune. But I fell ill at your
gates."