“Oh, but surely you ought to have sense enough to take care of yourself.  And there is always your father.  Why don’t you see more of him?”

“Don’t chaff a man when you see he’s in earnest.  You know what I mean.  It’s you I am thinking of.”

“Me?  Oh well, if you think my friendship can be of any use to you I shall be delighted.  Come and see me sometimes and tell me of your struggles.”

“You know I don’t mean that,” he said desperately.  “Couldn’t we be more than friends?  Couldn’t we commence again—­where we left off”

“How do you mean?” she murmured.

“Why are you so cold to me?” he burst out.  “Why do you make it so hard for me to speak?  You know I love you, that I fell in love with you all over again last night.  I never really forgot you; you were always deep down in my breast.  All that I said about steadying me wasn’t a lie.  I felt that, too.  But the real thing I feel is the need of you.  I want you to care for me as I care for you.  You used to, Esther; you know you did.”

“I know nothing of the kind,” said Esther, “and I can’t understand why a young fellow like you wants to bother his head with such ideas.  You’ve got to make your way in the world—­”

“I know, I know; that’s why I want you.  I didn’t tell you the exact truth last night, Esther, but I must really earn some money soon.  All that two thousand is used up, and I only get along by squeezing some money out of the old man every now and again.  Don’t frown; he got a rise of screw three years ago and can well afford it.  Now that’s what I said to myself last night; if I were engaged, it would be an incentive to earning something.”

“For a Jewish young man, you are fearfully unpractical,” said Esther, with a forced smile.  “Fancy proposing to a girl without even prospects of prospects.”

“Oh, but I have got prospects.  I tell you I shall make no end of money on the stage.”

“Or no beginning,” she said, finding the facetious vein easiest.

“No fear.  I know I’ve got as much talent as Bob Andrews (he admits it himself), and he draws his thirty quid a week.”

“Wasn’t that the man who appeared at the police-court the other day for being drunk and disorderly?”

“Y-e-es,” admitted Leonard, a little disconcerted.  “He is a very good fellow, but he loses his head when he’s in liquor.”

“I wonder you can care for society of that sort,” said Esther.

“Perhaps you’re right.  They’re not a very refined lot.  I tell you what—­I’d like to go on the stage, but I’m not mad on it, and if you only say the word I’ll give it up.  There!  And I’ll go on with my law studies; honor bright, I will.”

“I should, if I were you,” she said.

“Yes, but I can’t do it without encouragement.  Won’t you say ‘yes’?  Let’s strike the bargain.  I’ll stick to law and you’ll stick to me.”

She shook her head.  “I am afraid I could not promise anything you mean.  As I said before, I shall be always glad to see you.  If you do well, no one will rejoice more than I.”