148 The Light That Failed how entered the studio. He went to the mantelpiece, buried his head on his arms, and groaned like a wounded bull. “What the devil right have you to interfere?” he said, at last. “Who’s interfering with which? Your own sense told you long ago you couldn’t be such a fool. It was a tough rack, St. Anthony, but you’re all right now.” “T oughtn’t to have seen her moving about these rooms as if they belonged to her. That’s what upset me. It gives a lonely man a sort of hankering, doesn’t it?” said Torpenhow, piteously. “Now you talk sense. It does. But, since you aren’t in a condition to discuss the disadvantages of double housekeeping, do you know what you’re going to do?” “IT don’t. I wish IJ did.” “You're going away for a season on a brilliant tour to regain tone. You’re going to Brighton, or Scarborough, or Prawle Point, to see the ships go by. And you're going at once. Isn’t it odd? Pll take care of Binkie, but out you go immediately. Never resist the devil. He holds the bank. Fly from him. Pack your things and go.” “I believe you're right. Where shall I go?” “And you call yourself a special correspondent! Pack first and inquire afterwards.” An hour later Torpenhow was dispatched into the night for a hansom. “You'll probably think of some place to go to while you’re moving,” said Dick. “On to Euston, to begin with, and — oh yes — get drunk tonight.” He returned to the studio, and lighted more candles, for he found the room very dark. “Oh, you Jezebel! you futile little Jezebel! Won’t you hate me tomorrow! — Binkie, come here.” Binkie turned over on his back on the hearth-rug,