wever, did not occur to him was to blame himself. Maurice
Sellon was not built that way. His memory went back to the time of
their first meeting--a clear case of love at first sight--to many a
tryst since, stolen, and therefore doubly sweet; their awakening to the
hopelessness of it all; then their mutual compact to part, to hold no
sort of communication by word or pen for six months--which arrangement,
though heroic, had broken down ignominiously, as we have seen. He was a
great mixture, this unprincipled man of the world. But, with all his
faults, his heart was a very soft one, and around it Violet Avory had
entwined herself with a firmness, an inextricability, which she could
hardly have compassed with a man of stronger mind and clearer head.

It did not occur to him to blame himself. He held her heart, but
dog-in-the-manger like. They could never be anything closer to each
other; but, dog-in-the-manger like, he had no idea of surrendering her
to one who might freely occupy a closer place. Conscience suggested
that had he himself not turned up Renshaw Fanning's suit might in time
have prospered. Well, what was that to him? He would give up Violet to
no man living; and he felt sore and angry at the bare suggestion
sometimes aroused by mind and conscience that she could at any time
bring herself or be brought to give him up.

Then his thoughts took a turn; went back to Fanning and his tormenting
secret. He remembered the banter that had passed between them, when
projecting their treasure-seeking expedition. "Perhaps after all our
object is the same," he had said. "Perhaps it is," had been the
off-hand reply. And it was with a vengeance. He had not intended to be
so literal in making the remark! yet he had been startlingly so, though
unconsciously. And this suggested another misgiving. What if Fanning
should now refuse to share the secret with him--make some excuse--invent
some pretext for "climbing down"? He knew that he himself would be more
than tempted so to act were the positions reversed. In fact, it was of
no use disguising from himself that he would so act. But Fanning was a
good fellow--a thoroughly conscientious fellow. He would never go back
on his word--would never play him, Maurice, such a shady trick.

Wherein is one of those paradoxes in human nature which will now and
again crop up--for no matter to how great an extent hard experience may
teach us to put no trust in our fellow-men, d