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Rosina was a most appreciative guest. She gloried in the warmth and luxury of the room, the general atmosphere of well-being, the delicate food, the champagne which she tasted for the first time. She looked in almost awed wonder at her companion.

"Matthew," she asked, "how can you possibly afford this?"

"I have never done anything in my life which I could not afford," he answered, truthfully enough. "To-day I lunched here with my employer. I came in, a salaried servant at two hundred and fifty a year—even that represents three increases in six months—and I went out with a thousand a year for certain, and the prospect of a partnership."

She could only murmur something incomprehensible. The figures dazzled her. The whole thing was too astonishing.

"I have brought you here, Rosina," he went on, "to talk to you seriously. I am sorry for Philip, but it is perfectly clear that his idea of making money by writing stories is absurd. He cannot hold his own up here; neither can you by yourself. You can see exactly what the position is. Your earnings have been insufficient to keep you, and you have spent all your capital. I am the only one keeping up his payments. If I were to go on, I should soon be supporting the pair of you."