The Marquess started to his feet and paced the room again.
"I feel as if I were in a dream, a nightmare," he said. "Here are you, suddenly springing to life, poor, almost destitute, and you come to me, not asking for all that is yours by right, not even for money for yourself, but for someone, for some girl who is not even of your kith and kin, has no claim on you. I always thought you mad, Wilfred, in the old days when we were boys together. I still think you're mad. How could I think otherwise?"
"We are all mad, more or less, Talbot," rejoined Mr. Clendon, with the flicker of a grim smile on his thin lips. "But this young girl—I have taken her misery to heart. If you had seen her as I have seen her—but you haven't, and I have to try to impress her case on you, enlist your sympathies, as well as I can. She is a lady, not by birth, perhaps, but by instinct and training. She has been well educated. That's been against her, of course. It always is with persons in her position; anyway, it makes her lot a still harder one."
"Well, well!" broke in the Marquess. "You want me to give her money. Of course, you can have what you want, any sum; you have but to ask—Ask! it is all yours; you have but to demand!—No, no, I don't mean to be angry, brutal; but, surely, you can understand what I am feeling. How much do you want?"
"Nothing," said Mr. Clendon, with another flickering smile. "My dear Talbot, you don't understand. But I don't blame you; how should you? All the same, we poor people have our little pride; the girl of whom I speak—well, I found her starving in her miserable little room, because she was too proud to descend a flight of steps to mine, to ask for the bread for which she was dying."
The Marquess stared. "Is it possible that such cases can exist?"
"Oh, yes, my dear Talbot," responded Mr. Clendon, with grim irony. "There are more persons die of starvation in London every day than the Boards of Guardians wot of. The doctor calls them 'heart-failure' in his certificate; and he is quite accurate. But let me tell you what I want you to do. This girl has been a secretary; she has been advertising for some similar post; any post, indeed."
He took out the paper and pointed to the advertisement. The Marquess took the paper, passing his hand over his eyes, as if he were dazed, and read the few lines which had cost Celia her last penny.
"Got it?" asked Mr. Clendon. "Well, now, I want you to write an answer to it, Talbot, and offer her a situation."
Lord Sutcombe dropped into his chair, his head sunk in his hands.