The Pauper of Park Lane. Le Queux William

have amassed a great fortune while occupying those posts in the various ministries. But he had preferred to remain as he was, upright, even though comparatively poor.

      “Well?” asked Max, after a long silence. “I am waiting.”

      “It is a matter to which I refer not without some hesitation,” declared his friend. “I want to speak to you about Maud.”

      “About Maud. Well?”

      “I am worried about the child – a good deal.”

      “For what reason?” asked Max, considerably surprised.

      Maud was Petrovitch’s only daughter, a very beautiful girl, now nineteen years of age, who had been brought up in England and to whom he was entirely devoted.

      “Well, she has fallen in love.”

      “All girls do sooner or later,” replied Max, philosophically.

      “But she’s too young yet – far too young. Twenty-five is quite early enough for a girl to marry.”

      “And who’s the man?”

      “Your friend – Charlie Rolfe.”

      “Charlie!” he exclaimed, in great surprise. “And he’s in love with Maud. Are you quite sure of this?”

      “Quite. She meets him in secret, and though Rolfe is your friend, Max, I tell you I don’t like it,” he declared.

      “I am not surprised. Secret affections never meet with a parent’s approbation. If Charlie is in love with her, and the affection is mutual, why doesn’t he come straight and tell you?”

      “Exactly my argument,” declared Petrovitch, lighting a fresh cigarette with the end of one half-consumed. “But tell me, Rolfe is an intimate friend of yours, is he not?”

      “Very,” was Max’s reply, though he did not inform his friend of his love for Marion.

      “What is his exact position?”

      “As far as I know, he is private secretary to old Samuel Statham, the great financier. His position is quite a good one – as far as confidential secretaryships go.”

      “Statham! I’ve heard of him. There’s some extraordinary story about his house in Park Lane, isn’t there? Nobody has ever been inside, or something.”

      “There is, I believe, some cock and bull story,” responded Max. “The old fellow is a bit eccentric, and doesn’t care for people prying all over his house. He lives alone, and has no friends. Do you know, one can be very lonely in London. It is a perfect Sahara to those who are friendless.”

      “Yes,” said Petrovitch, huskily. “I know it by experience myself. When I was a youth I lived here. I was a foreign clerk in an insurance office in the city, and I lived perfectly alone – among all these millions. I remember it all as though it were only yesterday. I was indeed glad to get back to Servia.”

      “But why are you worried about Maud, old fellow?” Max asked. “Don’t you like Rolfe – or what?”

      “I like him very much, indeed I took a great fancy to the young fellow when you introduced him to me last year at Aix-les-Bains. From the very first I noticed that he was attracted towards the child, and I did not object because I thought a little flirtation would amuse her. These secret meetings, however, I don’t like. It is not right. She’s met him in St. James’s Park, and at other places of late, and they have gone for long walks together without my knowledge or sanction.”

      Max thought for a moment.

      “Does she know that you are aware of the meetings?”

      “No.”

      “Well, I must admit that I had no idea matters had gone so far as they evidently have,” he said. “I, of course, knew that he has greatly admired Maud from the very first. He was, in fact, always speaking of her in admiration, yet I believed that he did not consider his position to be sufficiently established in warranting him to declare his love to her. Shall I throw out a gentle hint to him that the secret meetings would be best discontinued?”

      “If he were to discontinue his visits here altogether it would, I think, be best,” said Petrovitch in a hard voice, quite unusual to him.

      Max was surprised at this. Had any unpleasantness occurred between the two men, which his friend was concealing, knowing that Rolfe was his most intimate chum?

      “Does he come often?”

      “He calls about once a week – upon me, ostensibly, but really in excuse to see the child.”

      “And now – let us speak frankly, old fellow,” Max said, bending slightly towards the man seated opposite him. “Do you object to Rolfe paying his attentions to your daughter?”

      “Yes – I do.”

      “Then I very much regret that I ever introduced him. We were together at Aix-les-Bains for three weeks last summer, and, as you know, we met. You were my old friend, and I could not help introducing him. I regret it now, and can only hope you will forgive me such an indiscretion.”

      “It was not indiscreet at all – only unfortunate,” he answered, almost snappishly.

      “But tell me straight out – what do you wish me to do?” Max urged. “Recollect that if I can serve you in any way you have only to command me.”

      “Even at the expense of your friend’s happiness?” asked Petrovitch, his sharp eyes fixed upon the young man.

      “If he really loves her, the circumstances of the cue are altered,” was the diplomatic answer.

      “And if he does not? If it is, as I suspect, a mere flirtation – what then?”

      “Then I think you should leave the matter to me, to act with my discretion,” young Barclay replied. He recollected that Charlie was Marion’s brother, and he saw himself already in a somewhat difficult position. “My own idea is,” he went on, “that it is something more than a mere flirtation, and that the reason of the secret meetings is because he fears to ask your consent to be allowed to pay court to your daughter.”

      “What makes you think so?”

      “From some words that his sister Marion let drop the other day.”

      “Ah! Marion is a sweet and charming girl,” the elder man declared. “What a pity she should be compelled to drudge in a shop!”

      “Yes,” replied Max, quickly. “It is a thousand pities. She’s far too refined and good for that life.”

      “A matter of unfortunate necessity, I suppose.”

      Necessity! Max Barclay bit his lips when he recollected how very easily she might leave that shop-life if she would only accept money from him. But how could she? How could he offer it to her without insult?

      No. Until she consented to be his wife she must still remain there, at the beck and call of every irritating tradesman’s wife who cared to enter the department to purchase a ready-made costume or a skirt “with material for bodice.”

      “I’m sorry for Marion,” Dr Petrovitch went on. “She frequently comes here of an evening, and often on Sundays to keep Maud company. They get on most excellently together.”

      “Yes; she is devoted to Maud. She has told me so.”

      “I believe she is,” Petrovitch said. “And yet it is unfortunate, for friendliness with Marion must also mean continued friendliness with her brother.”

      “Ah! I see now that you do not like him,” Max said, openly, for he could not now fail to see from his friend’s expression that something had occurred. What it was he was utterly unable to make out.

      “No, I don’t,” was the ex-Minister’s plain, determined answer. “And to tell you the truth, I have other views regarding Maud’s future. So just tell the young man whatever you think proper. Only request him neither to call here, nor to attempt to see the child again!”

      Chapter