"If you are talking of private matters, I will go and rest until you are ready to recommence."
The artist glanced inquiringly at his friend.
"There is no necessity for leaving us, Dolly," said Trethowen. "We are all three old friends, and my purpose in coming here this afternoon is to spend an hour with you for the last time."
"The last time!" she echoed in dismay. "Why—are you going away?"
He did not answer for a moment. His eyes were fixed upon the girl's face, and his lips trembled a little under the shadow of his fair moustache. Could he really muster up courage to tell them of his intention? He hesitated, then he replied, firmly enough:
"By an unfortunate combination of circumstances I am compelled to leave all my friends. I much regret it, but it cannot be avoided."
The men had seated themselves, and the pretty model was pouring tea into three dainty little cups.
Egerton frowned impatiently.
"This sort of talk isn't like you, Hugh, and it sounds bad. Surely you don't contemplate leaving us altogether?"
"I must—I cannot remain."
"Why?"
"I've already told you. I'm ruined."
"Ruined—good God—you're joking! But even if you are—confound it—why should you go? Other men have got on their legs again."
"I never shall," Trethowen replied sadly. "It's impossible."
"If you'll tell us about it," said the artist persuasively, "we can judge for ourselves."
"Well, briefly told, the facts are these, old fellow. You are aware I'm only the younger son, and that on
