“Tell me, Burton,” he asked kindly, “how did you come to do this thing?”

“It was the professor and the girl,” he murmured.  “They made it seem so reasonable.”

“It is always the girl,” Mr. Waddington reflected.  “The girl with the blue eyes, I suppose, whom you told me about?  The girl of the garden?”

Burton nodded.

“Her father is a scientific man,” he explained.  “He wants money badly to go on with some excavations in Assyria.  Between them all, I consented.  Waddington,” he went on, looking up, “I was beginning to get terrified.  I had only two beans left.  I have parted with them.  They could have lasted me only a few months.  I thought if I had to go back, I would go back free from any anxieties of work in an office.  Wealth must help one somehow.  If I can travel, surround myself with books, live in the country, I can’t ever be so bad, I can’t fall back where I was before.  What do you think, Mr. Waddington?  You must have this on your mind sometimes.  You yourself have only six or seven months left.”

Mr. Waddington sighed.

“Do you think that it isn’t a nightmare for me, too?” he said gently.  “Only I am afraid that wealth will not help you.  The most vulgar and ignorant people I know are among the wealthiest.  There is a more genuine simplicity and naturalness among the contented and competent poor than any other class.  You were wrong, Burton.  Riches breed idleness, riches tempt one to the purchase of false pleasure.  You would have been better back upon your stool in my office.”

“It is too late,” Burton declared, a little doggedly.  “I came to ask you if you wanted to join?  For two more beans they would make you, too, a director, and give you five thousand shares.”

Mr. Waddington shook his head.

“Thank you, Burton,” he said, “I would sooner retain my beans.  I have no interest in your enterprise.  I think it hateful and abominable.  I cannot conceive,” he went on, “how you, Burton, in your sane mind, could have stooped so low as to associate yourself in any way with the thing.”

“You don’t know what my temptations were!” Burton groaned.

“And therefore,” Mr. Waddington replied, “I will not judge you.  Yet do not think that I should ever allow myself to consider your proposition, even for a moment.  Tell me, you say you’ve parted with your last bean—­”

“And my time is almost up!” Burton interrupted, beating the table before him.  “Only this morning, for an instant, I was afraid!”

“Try and keep your thoughts away from it,” Mr. Waddington advised.  “Let me show you these new prints.  By the bye, where is your wonderful little boy?”

“Gone—­back to his mother!” Burton answered grimly.  “Didn’t you hear us mention him?  I left him in my rooms one night and when I came back the whole place was in disorder.  He was in a filthy state and sobbing for his home.”

“My poor fellow!” Mr. Waddington murmured.  “Come, I will take you with me to lunch.  We can spend the afternoon in my library.  I have some new treasures to show you.  We will lose ourselves.  For a short time, at least, you shall forget.”