“I have been nowhere,” he answered.  “My work has claimed my undivided attention.”

“Nonsense,” she answered.  “You have been living for a year within a shilling cab ride of us, and you have not once even called.  I really wonder that I am sitting here with you, as though prepared to forgive you.  Do you know that I have written you three times asking you to come to tea?”

He turned a very white face upon her.

“Won’t you understand,” he said, “that I have been engrossed in a work which would admit of no distractions?

“You could find time to go down to Medchester, and make speeches for your friend Mr. Bullsom,” she answered.

“That was different.  I was deeply indebted to Mr. Bullsom, and anxious to see him returned.  That, too, was work.  It is only pleasures which I have denied myself.”

“That,” she remarked, “is the nicest—­in fact, the only nice thing you have said.  You have changed since Enton.”

“I have been through a good deal,” he said, wearily.

She shuddered a little.

“Don’t look like that,” she exclaimed.  “Forgive me, but you made me think—­do you remember that night at Enton, when Lord Arranmore spoke of his work amongst the poor, how the hopelessness of it began to haunt him and weigh upon him till he reached the verge of madness.  You had something of that look just now.”

He smiled faintly.

“Believe me, it was fancy,” he answered, earnestly.  “Remember, I am a little out of sorts to-day.  I am not discouraged; I have no cause to be discouraged.  A good many of the outside public misunderstand my work, and Mr. Lavilette thinks I make money out of it.  Then, of course, all the organized charities are against me.  But in spite of all I am able to go on and increase day by day.”

“It is wonderful,” she declared.  “I read everything in the papers about you—­and I get the monthly reports, for of course I am a subscriber—­so is mother.  But—­that brings your shameful neglect of us back into my mind.  I wrote to you begging to be allowed to inspect one of your branches, and all I got back was a polite reply from your secretary to the effect that the general public—­even subscribers—­were never allowed in any of the branches as sightseers, and that all I could see was the stores and general arrangements, for which he enclosed a view-card.”

“Well,” Brooks said, “you don’t think that poor people who come to you for help should be exposed to the casual inspection of visitors who want to see how it is done, do you?  I have always been very particular about that.  We should not allow the Prince of Wales in the room whilst we were dealing with applicants.”

“Well, you might have written yourself, or come and seen us,” Sybil declared, a little irrelevantly.  “Why couldn’t I be an occasional helper?”

“There is not the slightest reason why you should not,” he answered.  “We have seventeen hundred on the books, but we could always do with more, especially now we are opening so many more branches.  But, you know, we should expect you to come sometimes, and how would Lady Caroom like that?” She laughed.