Every eye was upon him.

In spite of himself, his accusing hand went fingering the inanity of his waistcoat front.

He also fingered, with a horrible fascination, the dirty piece of card that took the place of his watch in his pocket.
One must be twenty to realize the tragedy of it.

Dans un grenier qu'on est bien a vingt ans! To be twenty, in a garret, with the freedom and the joy of it! Yes; the dear poet was right.

In those "brave days" the poignancy of life comes not in the garret, but in the palace.
To-morrow, with his jacket buttoned, he could make his exit from Drane's Court in the desired splendour--scattering largesse to menials and showing to hosts the reflected glow of the golden prospects before him; but for this evening the glory had departed.