“I’ll let you know when I do,” answered Franks, suppressing a yawn.  “Good-night, old man.”

For a fortnight, Warburton led his wonted life, shut off as usual from the outer world.  About this time, Allchin began to observe with anxiety the change in his master’s aspect and general behaviour.

“I’m afraid you’re not feeling quite yourself, sir,” he said at closing time one night.  “I’ve noticed lately you don’t seem quite well.”

“Have you?  Well, perhaps you are right.  But it doesn’t matter.”

“If you’ll excuse me, sir,” returned the assistant, “I’m afraid it does matter.  I hope, sir, you won’t think I speak disrespectful, but I’ve been noticing that you didn’t seem to care about waiting on customers lately.”

“You’ve noticed that?”

“I have, sir, if the truth must be told.  And I kept saying to myself as it wasn’t like you.  What I’m afraid of, sir, if you don’t mind me saying it, is that the customers themselves are beginning to notice it.  Mrs. Gilpin said to me yesterday—­’What’s come to Mr. Jollyman?’ she says.  ‘He hasn’t a civil word for me!’ she says.  Of course, I made out as you’d been suffering from a bad ’eadache, and I shouldn’t wonder if that’s the truth, sir.”

Warburton set his teeth and said nothing.

“You wouldn’t like to take just a little ’oliday, sir?” returned Allchin.  “This next week, I could manage well enough.  It might do you good, sir, to have a mouthful of sea air—­”

“I’ll think about it,” broke in the other abruptly.

He was going away without another word, but, in crossing the shop, he caught his henchman’s eye fixed on him with a troublous gaze.  Self-reproach checked his steps.

“You’re quite right, Allchin,” he said in a confidential tone.  “I’m not quite up to the mark, and perhaps I should do well to take a holiday.  Thank you for speaking about it.”

He walked home, and there, on his table, he found a letter from Franks, which he eagerly tore open.  “I have as good as decided,” wrote the artist.  “Yesterday, I went to Ashtead, and saw R. We met like old friends—­just as I wished.  Talked as naturally as you and I. I suspect—­only suspect of course—­that she knows of my visits to Walham Green, and smiles at them!  Yes, as you say, I think she has improved—­decidedly.  The upshot of it all is that I shall call on the Crosses again, and, when an opportunity offers, try my chance.  I think I am acting sensibly, don’t you?”

After reading this, Will paced about his room for an hour or two.  Then he flung himself into bed, but got no sleep until past dawn.  Rising at the usual hour, he told himself that this would not do; to live on in this way was mere moral suicide; he resolved to run down to St. Neots, whence, if his mother were capable of the journey, she and Jane might go for a week or two to the seaside.  So, having packed his travelling bag, he walked to the shop, and