He shook his head.  He knew now that he could never have told her or made her understand.  She would have thought him silly—­or disloyal.  She would never see that this new love had nothing to do with the Robert who would die if Christine left him.  It had to do with another boy who longed for bands and processions and worshipped happy, splendid people who did not have to tell lies and who were so strong and fearless that even fierce animals had to obey them.  They were different.  They did not live in the same life.  You could love them without pain or pity.

It was a secret thing, inside himself.  If he tried to drag it out and show it her, no one could tell what would happen to it.

She sighed deeply.

“It’s this being away all day.  If I had been at home you would have asked me for the money, wouldn’t you?  And then you forgot to tell me.  But I’ve been a little worried.  You didn’t take it all, did you, dear?”

“Yes, I did.  I spent it at the Circus.  And then I gave some to Cosgrave.”

He saw the blood rush up wildly into her white face.  The next minute she had laughed—­a gay, unfamiliar laugh—­and he winced and shivered as though she had struck him.

“Why, that’s so like your father—­that’s just what your father would have done.  He loved doing kind, generous things—­giving money away.”

And now he knew for certain who it was who stood behind him in the dark passage.  He could not bear it.  He slammed the door to, closing his eyes tight so that he should not see.  He ran to her, pressing himself against her, stammering passionately.

“I’m not like my father—­I’m not—­I’m not.  I won’t be.”

She petted him tenderly.  She was grave now and sure of herself.

“You mustn’t say that, Robert.  Your father was a wonderful man, in many ways.  People didn’t understand him—­only your mother and I. If your mother had lived it would all have been quite different.  He was unfortunate and often very unhappy.  The world thinks so much of money.  But he despised it.  It was nothing to him.  You’re like that too.  You didn’t realize, did you?  It didn’t seem a great deal.  It was just a beginning.  But I have had to do without food.  I’ve been hungry sometimes—­I think I ought to tell you this, so that you may understand—­I’ve looked into shop-windows at lunch-time.  You see, it was to pay for the time when you are preparing to be a doctor.  It means hundreds of pounds, Robert.  But I calculated that if I saved a little every week—­I’d manage it—­if I didn’t die or lose my work.”

“Don’t, Christine—­please don’t!  Oh, Christine!”

“If I lost my work—­Mr. Percy is very kind.  He is an old friend and knows the position.  But he has his business to consider.  I’m not quick—­my eyes aren’t strong.  There are younger, cleverer people.  We’ve got to look things in the face, Robert.  If I lost my work there would be nothing between us and the workhouse—­nothing—­nothing—­nothing.”