“She might have been out with Tom?”

“No, sir; I knew Tom was on the platform somewhere or other.  He was working up to all hours organising the eight hours’ working movement.”

“A very good reason for relaxing his sweethearting.”

“It was.  He never went to Stepney Green on a week night.”

“But you always did.”

“No—­not every night.”

“You didn’t go in?”

“Never.  She wouldn’t permit my visits.  She was a girl of strong character.  She always reminded me of Flora Macdonald.”

“Another lady of your acquaintance?”

“A lady I know better than the shadows who surround me, who is more real to me than the women who pester me for the price of apartments.  Jessie Dymond, too, was of the race of heroines.  Her eyes were clear blue, two wells with Truth at the bottom of each.  When I looked into those eyes my own were dazzled.  They were the only eyes I could never make dreamy.”  He waved his hand as if making a pass with it.  “It was she who had the influence over me.”

“You knew her, then?”

“Oh, yes.  I knew Tom from the old New Pork Herald days, and when I first met him with Jessie hanging on his arm he was quite proud to introduce her to a poet.  When he got on he tried to shake me off.”

“You should have repaid him what you borrowed.”

“It—­it—­was only a trifle,” stammered Denzil.

“Yes, but the world turns on trifles,” said the wise Wimp.

“The world is itself a trifle,” said the pensive poet.  “The Beautiful alone is deserving of our regard.”

“And when the Beautiful was not gossiping with her landlady, did she gossip with you as you passed the door?”

“Alas, no!  She sat in her room reading, and cast a shadow—­”

“On your life?”

“No; on the blind.”

“Always one shadow?”

“No, sir.  Once or twice, two.”

“Ah, you had been drinking.”

“On my life, not.  I have sworn off the treacherous wine-cup.”

“That’s right.  Beer is bad for poets.  It makes their feet shaky.  Whose was the second shadow?”

“A man’s.”

“Naturally.  Mortlake’s, perhaps.”

“Impossible.  He was still striking eight hours.”

“You found out whose shadow?  You didn’t leave a shadow of doubt?”

“No; I waited till the substance came out.”

“It was Arthur Constant.”

“You are a magician!  You—­you terrify me.  Yes, it was he.”

“Only once or twice, you say?”

“I didn’t keep watch over them.”

“No, no, of course not.  You only passed casually.  I understand you thoroughly.”

Denzil did not feel comfortable at the assertion.

“What did he go there for?” Wimp went on.

“I don’t know.  I’d stake my soul on Jessie’s honour.”

“You might double your stake without risk.”