“I can’t ask you in,” said Mr. Mott, jocularly, as he reached his door, and turned the key in the lock.  “Good-bye.”

“Good-bye,” said Mr. Hurst.

He grasped the other’s outstretched hand, and with a violent jerk pulled him into the street.  Then he pushed open the door, and, slipping into the passage, passed hastily into the front room, closely followed by the infuriated Mr. Mott.

“What—­what—­what!” stammered that gentleman.

“I’m taking your tip,” said Mr. Hurst, pale but determined.  “I’m going to stay here until I have seen Florrie.”

“You—­you’re a serpent,” said Mr. Mott, struggling for breath.  “I—­I’m surprised at you.  You go out before you get hurt.”

“Not without the mantelpiece,” said Mr. Hurst, with a distorted grin.

“A viper!” said Mr. Mott, with extreme bitterness.  “If you are not out in two minutes I’ll send for the police.”

“Florrie wouldn’t like that,” said Mr. Hurst.  “She’s awfully particular about what people think.  You just trot upstairs and tell her that a gentleman wants to see her.”

He threw himself into Mr. Mott’s own particular easy chair, and, crossing his knees, turned a deaf ear to the threats of that incensed gentleman.  Not until the latter had left the room did his features reveal the timorousness of the soul within.  Muffled voices sounded from upstairs, and it was evident that an argument of considerable length was in progress.  It was also evident from the return of Mr. Mott alone that his niece had had the best of it.

“I’ve done all I could,” he said, “but she declines to see you.  She says she won’t see you if you stay here for a month, and you couldn’t do that, you know.”

“Why not?” inquired Mr. Hurst.

“Why not?” repeated Mr. Mott, repressing his feelings with some difficulty.  “Food!”

Mr. Hurst started.

“And drink,” said Mr. Mott, following up his advantage.  “There’s no good in starving yourself for nothing, so you may as well go.”

“When I’ve seen Florrie,” said the young man, firmly.

Mr. Mott slammed the door, and for the rest of the day Mr. Hurst saw him no more.  At one o’clock a savoury smell passed the door on its way upstairs, and at five o’clock a middle-aged woman with an inane smile looked into the room on her way aloft with a loaded tea-tray.  By supper-time he was suffering considerably from hunger and thirst.

At ten o’clock he heard the footsteps of Mr. Mott descending the stairs.  The door opened an inch, and a gruff voice demanded to know whether he was going to stay there all night.  Receiving a cheerful reply in the affirmative, Mr. Mott secured the front door with considerable violence, and went off to bed without another word.

He was awakened an hour or two later by the sound of something falling, and, sitting up in bed to listen, became aware of a warm and agreeable odour.  It was somewhere about the hour of midnight, but a breakfast smell of eggs and bacon would not be denied.