itt was still seated in his chair, idly turning the leaves of a book.
"Behold, my dear Richard," he said, gazing up lazily, "the two most unfortunate men in London. You faced by poverty, I by marriage. The great Negative and Affirmative of contemporary existence."
Beresford dropped into a chair and helped himself to a cigarette from the box on the table, which he proceeded to light.
"I'm just off to Folkestone," he said casually, as he blew out the match and placed it on the ash-tray beside him.
Drewitt screwed his glass into his eye, and examined his cousin's morning clothes and silk hat with deliberate intentness.
"Sartorial originality, Richard, is bound to win in the end," he remarked. "I would suggest the addition of dust-coat and race-glasses."
Beresford laughed. "Oh," he said casually, "of course, I shall run in and change first."
"It must be delightful to be a creature of impulse," said Drewitt; "and how did you find out that she was staying at Folkestone?"
Beresford stared at him blankly. "Who?" he cried.
"What is the present state of your finances, Richard?" enquired Drewitt, ignoring the question.
"Oh, about a hundred pounds."
Drewitt nodded meditatively.
"I should propose whilst you still have some
