“That’s the way you’ll desert me one of these days.  All men are brutes.”

“No, darling, they are not.  If you’ll act fairly by me, I will by you—­I’ll never desert you.”

Lizzie did not answer.

“You don’t think me a brute like that fellow Fletcher, do you?”

“I don’t think there’s much difference between any of you.”

Frank ground his teeth, and at that moment he only desired one thing—­to prove to Lizzie that men were not all vile and worthless.  They had turned into the Temple; the old places seemed dozing in the murmuring quietude of the evening.  Mike was coming up the pathway, his dress-clothes distinct in the delicate gray light, his light-gray overcoat hanging over his arm.

“What a toff he is!” said Lizzie.  His appearance and what it symbolized—­an evening in a boudoir or at the gaming-table—­jarred on Frank, suggesting as it did a difference in condition from that of the wretched girl he had abandoned; and as Mike prided himself that scandalous stories never followed upon his loves, the unearthing of this mean and obscure liaison annoyed him exceedingly.  Above all, the accusation of paternity was disagreeable; but determined to avoid a quarrel, he was about to pass by, when Frank noticed Lady Helen’s pocket-handkerchief sticking out of his pocket.

“You blackguard,” he said, “you are taking that handkerchief to a gambling hell.”

Then realizing that the game was up, he turned and would have struck his friend had not Lizzie interposed.  She threw herself between the men, and called a policeman, and the quarrel ended in Mike’s dismissal from the staff of the Pilgrim.

Frank had therefore to sit up writing till one o’clock, for the whole task of bringing out the paper was thrown upon him.  Lizzie sat by him sewing.  Noticing how pale and tired he looked, she got up, and putting her arm about his neck, said—­

“Poor old man, you are tired; you had better come to bed.”

He took her in his arms affectionately, and talked to her.

“If you were always as kind and as nice as you are to-night ...  I could love you.”

“I thought you did love me.”

“So I do; you will never know how much.”  They were close together, and the pure darkness seemed to separate them from all worldly influences.

“If you would be a good girl, and think only of him who loves you very dearly.”

“Ah, if I only had met you first!”

“It would have made no difference, you’d have only been saying this to some one else.”

“Oh, no; if you had known me before I went wrong.”

“Was he the first?”

“Yes; I would have been an honest little girl, trying to make you comfortable.”

Throwing himself on his back, Frank argued prosaically—­

“Then you mean to say you really care about me more than any one else?”

She assured him that she did; and again and again the temptations of women were discussed.  He could not sleep, and stretched at length on his back, he held Lizzie’s hand.