“My young friend,” he said, “I want you to listen to me.  I am twice your age.  I have seen very much more of the world than you.  Years ago I had a friend—­Silverton.  He was about your age—­clever, ambitious, good-looking.  He scored a small success—­a poem, I think it was—­and some one took him one day to call on Emily de Reuss.  I do not know where he is now, but two months ago I met him in rags, far advanced in consumption, an utter wreck bodily and mentally.  Yet when I spoke one word of her he struck me across the lips.  To-day I suppose he is dead—­pauper’s funeral and all that sort of thing, without a doubt.  I have taken his case first because he reminded me of you.  He had come from the north somewhere, and he was about your age.  But he is only one of a score.  There is Drexley, a broken man.  Once he wrote prose, which of its sort was the best thing going.  To-day he is absolutely nerveless.  He cannot write a line, and he is drinking heavily.  That he has not gone under altogether is simply because as yet he has not received his final dismissal.  He still has his uses, so he is allowed to hang on a little longer.  Now, Douglas Jesson, listen to one who knows.  What you are and who you are—­well, no matter.  I liked you when we met here, and you have a splendid opportunity before you.  Listen.  Emily de Reuss will care nothing for your safety.  She will oppose your going abroad.  You are her latest plaything.  She is not weary of you yet, so she will not let you go.  Be a man, and do the sensible thing.  Too many have been her victims.  It may make your heart ache a little; you may fancy yourself a little ungracious.  Never mind.  You will save your life and your soul.  Go abroad as soon as Rawlinson will send you.”

Rice’s words were too impressive to be disregarded altogether.  They stirred up in Douglas’s mind a vague uneasiness, but his sense of loyalty to the woman who had befriended him was unshaken.  Rice was led away by his feelings for his friend.

“Rice,” he said, “I know you’re speaking what you believe.  I can’t quite accept it all.  Never mind.  I’ll remember everything you’ve said.  I’m not quite a boy, you know, and I don’t wear my heart upon my sleeve.”

“Hard to convince, as they all are,” Rice said, with a wintry smile.  “Never mind.  I’ll do my best to save you.  Listen to this.  Do you know why Drexley behaved so disgracefully to you about your story?”

Douglas looked up eagerly.  The thing had always puzzled him.

“No.  Why?”

“Because he had orders from Emily de Reuss to do so.  She had given you her address and bidden you go and see her.  You never went.  So she wrote Drexley to give you no encouragement.  It was your punishment.  You were to go to her.”

“I don’t believe it,” Douglas declared hotly.

“Then you don’t believe me,” Rice said quietly, “for on my honour I tell you that I have seen the letter.”

Douglas leaned his head upon his hand.