Frank was deeply impressed by Mike’s tact and judgement, and they talked of women, discussing each shade of feminine morality through the smoke of innumerable cigarettes; and after each epigram they looked in each other’s eyes astonished at their genius and originality.  Then Mike spoke of the paper and the articles that would have to be written on the morrow.  He promised to get to work early, and they said good-night.

When Frank left Southwick two years ago and pursued Lizzie Baker to London, he had found her in straitened circumstances and unable to obtain employment.  The first night he took her out to dinner and bought her a hat, on the second he bought her a gown, and soon after she became his mistress.  Henceforth his days were devoted to her; they were seen together in all popular restaurants, and in the theatres.  One day she went to see some relations, and Frank had to dine alone.  He turned into Lubini’s, but to his annoyance the only table available was one which stood next where Mike Fletcher was dining.  “That fellow dining here,” thought Frank, “when he ought to be digging potatoes in Ireland.”  But the accident of the waiter seeking for a newspaper forced him to say a few words, and Mike talked so agreeably that at the end of dinner they went out together and walked up and down, talking on journalism and women.

Suddenly the last strand of Frank’s repugnance to make a friend of Mike broke, and he asked him to come up to his rooms and have a drink.  They remained talking till daybreak, and separated as friends in the light of the empty town.  Next day they dined together, and a few days after Frank and Lizzie breakfasted with Mike at his lodgings.  But during the next month they saw very little of him, and this pause in the course of dining and journalistic discussion, indicating, as Frank thought it did, a coolness on Mike’s part, determined the relation of these two men.  When they ran against each other in the corridor of a theatre, Frank eagerly button-holed Mike, and asked him why he had not been to dine at Lubini’s, and not suspecting that he dined there only when he was in funds, was surprised at his evasive answers.  Mistress and lover were equally anxious to know why they had not been able to find him in any of the usual haunts; he urged a press of work, but it transpired he was harassed by creditors, and was looking out for rooms.  Frank told him he was thinking of moving into the Temple.

“Lucky fellow!  I wish I could afford to live there.”

“I wish you could....  The apartment I have in mind is too large for me, you might take the half of it.”