Rowland went on.  “Do you believe that hanging about Christina Light will do you any good?  Do you believe it won’t?  In either case you should keep away from her.  If it won’t, it ’s your duty; and if it will, you can get on without it.”

“Do me good?” cried Roderick.  “What do I want of ’good’—­what should I do with ‘good’?  I want what she gives me, call it by what name you will.  I want to ask no questions, but to take what comes and let it fill the impossible hours!  But I did n’t come to discuss the matter.”

“I have not the least desire to discuss it,” said Rowland.  “I simply protest.”

Roderick meditated a moment.  “I have never yet thought twice of accepting a favor of you,” he said at last; “but this one sticks in my throat.”

“It is not a favor; I lend you the money only under compulsion.”

“Well, then, I will take it only under compulsion!” Roderick exclaimed.  And he sprang up abruptly and marched away.

His words were ambiguous; Rowland lay on the grass, wondering what they meant.  Half an hour had not elapsed before Roderick reappeared, heated with rapid walking, and wiping his forehead.  He flung himself down and looked at his friend with an eye which expressed something purer than bravado and yet baser than conviction.

“I have done my best!” he said.  “My mother is out of money; she is expecting next week some circular notes from London.  She had only ten francs in her pocket.  Mary Garland gave me every sou she possessed in the world.  It makes exactly thirty-four francs.  That ’s not enough.”

“You asked Miss Garland?” cried Rowland.

“I asked her.”

“And told her your purpose?”

“I named no names.  But she knew!”

“What did she say?”

“Not a syllable.  She simply emptied her purse.”

Rowland turned over and buried his face in his arms.  He felt a movement of irrepressible elation, and he barely stifled a cry of joy.  Now, surely, Roderick had shattered the last link in the chain that bound Mary to him, and after this she would be free!...  When he turned about again, Roderick was still sitting there, and he had not touched the keys which lay on the grass.

“I don’t know what is the matter with me,” said Roderick, “but I have an insurmountable aversion to taking your money.”

“The matter, I suppose, is that you have a grain of wisdom left.”

“No, it ’s not that.  It ’s a kind of brute instinct.  I find it extremely provoking!” He sat there for some time with his head in his hands and his eyes on the ground.  His lips were compressed, and he was evidently, in fact, in a state of profound irritation.  “You have succeeded in making this thing excessively unpleasant!” he exclaimed.

“I am sorry,” said Rowland, “but I can’t see it in any other way.”