However, towards three o'clock its vastness had shrunk.

"Dashed if I don't give the wench a fiver!" he exclaimed. It was
madness, but he had an obscure feeling that he might have had more
amusement if he had begun being mad rather earlier in life.

Upon this he slept soundly till six o'clock.

His mind then unfortunately got entangled in the painful episode of the
ten-pound note. He and Helen had the same blood in their veins. They
were alike in some essential traits. He knew that neither of them could
ever persuade himself, or herself, to mention that miserable ten-pound
note again.

"If I gave her a tenner," he said, "that would make her see as I'd
settled to forget that business, and let bygones _be_ bygones. I'll give
her a tenner."

It was preposterous. She could not, of course, spend it. She would put
it away. So it would not be wasted.

Upon this he rose.

Poor simpleton! Ever since the commencement of his relations with Helen,
surprise had followed surprise for him. And the series was not ended.

The idea of giving a gift made him quite nervous. He fumbled in his
cashbox for quite a long time, and then he called, nervously:

"Helen!"