either Susy or Strefford; he knew its weaknesses,its treacheries, its tendency to slip through his fingers justas he thought his grasp tigh

ncedmore than he triumphed when Susy produced her allusion t

pes ofAsia: he liked writing descriptions, and vaguely felt thatunder the guise of fiction he could develop his theory

himself by rememberingthat Wilhelm Meister has survived many weighty volumes onaesthetics; and betwe

wasgrowing and strengthening on his hands, it must be because theconditions were so different. He was at ease, he was secure, hewas satisfied; and he had also, for the first time since hisearly youth, before his mother's death, the sense o

ad built up in himself aconception of her answering to some deep-seated need ofveneration. She was his, he had chosen her, she had taken herplace in the long line of Lansing women who had been loved,honoured, and probabl

y from those she inspired. The part he had played inhis previous love-affairs might indeed have been summed up inthe memorable line: "I am the hunter and the prey," for he hadinvariably ceased to be the first only to regard himself as thesecond. T

om her if he were. He could notthink of her as an enemy, or even as an accomplice, sinceaccomplices are potential enemies: she was some one with whom,by some

more thoroughly enjoyed the things hehad always enjoyed. A good dinner had never been as good tohim, a beautiful sunset as beautiful; he sti

ding their golden opportunity, andhe secretly thought with her, wondering what new means theycould devise. He was thankful that Ellie Vanderlyn was stillabsent, and began to hope they might have the palace tothemsel

om each other without a dim sense of uneasiness. Lansing wasfamiliar with the feeling. He had known slight twinges of ithimself, and had often ministered to its qualms in others. Itwas hardly stronger than the faint gnawing which recalls th

followed. And then Susy's marriage was stilla subject of sympathetic speculation. People knew the story ofthe wedding cheques, and were interested in seeing how long theycould be made to last. It

iscouraged him from idling; and he was careful not to let herfind out that the change in his habits coincided with his havingreached a difficult point in his book. But though he was notsorry to stop writing he found himself unexpectedly oppressed bythe weight of his leisure. For the first time communal dawdlinghad

arrival of their friendsheightened her animation. It was as if the inward glow whichhad given her a new

ring with a laugh that she only hoped thepoor dears didn't see too plainly how they bored her. Thepatent insincerity of the reply was a shock

he said carelessly: "Oh, all the same, it'srather jolly knocking about with them ag

me!"A fear of the future again

becoming the dullest ofmonologues. He forgot that five minutes earlier he had resentedher being glad to see their friends, and for a moment he foun

last. But even then it never occurred to him toreflect that his apprehensions were superfluous, since their tiewas avowedly a temporary one. Of the special understanding onwhich their marr

y had hired the apartment from a painter (one oftheir newest discoveries), and they put up philosophically withthe absence of modern conveniences in order to secure theinestimable advantage of "atmosphere." In this privileged airthey gathered about

an hour's amusement,followed by a long e

ustriously "kept up" with the dizzy cross-current of prophecyand erudition. But a change had come over Lansing. Hitherto itwas in contrast to his own friends that the Hickses had seemedmost insufferable; now it was as an escape from these samefriends that they had become not only sympathetic but eveninteres

ng it, as indicating a new element in his own state of mind,and as being, in fact, the key to his new feeling about theHickses. Their muddled ardour for great things was related tohis own new view of the universe: the people who felt, howeverdimly

ofhis fortune and standing. What use he made of his experiences,Lansing, who had always gone into his own modest adventuresrather thoroughly, had never been able to guess; but he hadalways suspected the prodigal Fred of being no more than a wel

'sour first wedding present! Such a thumping big cheque from Fredand Ursula!"Plenty of sympathizing people were ready, Lansing knew, to tellhim just what had happened in the interval between those twodates; but he had taken care not to ask. He had

iled Gillow's arrival mightbe either the usual tribal welcome--since they were all "old,"and all

nd and made him ashamed of hisuneasiness. "You ought to have thought this all out sooner, orelse you ought to chuck thinking of it at all,"

her into talk apart fromthe others. More than ever he seemed content to be thegratified spectator of a costly show got up for his privateentertainment. It was not until he heard her, one morning,grumble a little at the increasing heat and the menace ofmosquitoes, that he said, quite as

d," Fred added, with what, forhim, w

nd added with an air ofmystery and impo

ut, as from the depth of a rankling grievance: "Ithought it was all understood.""Why," Nick asked his wife that night, as they re-enteredEllie's cool drawing-room after a late dinner at th

and stood beforehim in the faintly-lit room, slim

irbargain had been struck. And if he were to say: "Ah, but thisis different, because I'm jealous of Gillow," what light wouldsuch an answer shed on his past? The time for being jealous-ifso antiquated an attitude were on any ground defensible-wouldhave been before his marriage, and

his: "We needn't ever go anywhereyou don't want to." For once her submission was sweet, andfolding her close he whispered back through his kiss: "Notthere, then."In her response to his embrace he felt the acquiescen

us," he said,as if the shadowy walls and shining fl

from the table, and tearing it open stared amoment at the message. "It's from Ellie. She's coming to-morrow."She turned to the window and strayed out onto the balcony. Nickfollowed h

me ... I wish all this belong