up arms on
their account!

For a moment Craven almost disliked Miss Van Tuyn, and made up his mind
that there would be no "next time" for him in Soho while she was in
London. He knew that whenever they met he would feel her attraction;
but he now classed it with those attractions of the past which were
disgustingly explicable, and which just recently he had learnt to
understand in a way that was almost old.

Was he putting on horn spectacles while his eyesight was still
unimpaired? He felt doubtful, almost confused for a moment. Was his new
feeling for Lady Sellingworth subtly pulling him away from his youth?
Where was he going? Perhaps this new sensation of movement was only
deceptive; perhaps he was not on the way to an unknown region. For
a moment he wished that he could talk freely, openly, with some
understanding friend, a man of course. But though he had plenty of
men friends he could not think of one he would be able to confide his
present feelings to.

Already he began to realize the human ridicule which always attends upon
any departure from what, according to the decision of all absolutely
ordinary people, is strictly normal.

Everybody would understand and approve if he were to fall desperately
in love with Beryl Van Tuyn; but if he were to prefer a great friendship
with Lady Sellingworth to a love affair with her youthful and beautiful
friend no one would understand, and everybody would be ready to laugh
and condemn.

He knew this and yet he felt obstinate, mulish almost, as he sat down to
reply non-committally to Miss Van Tuyn's letter. It was only when he did
this that he thought seriously about its last words.

Why had she troubled to write them down? Comparatively young though he
was he knew that a woman's "by the way" usually means anything rather
than what it seems to mean--namely, a sentence thrown out by chance
because it has just happened to turn up in the mind. "A living bronze."
Miss Van Tuyn was exceptionally fond of bronzes and collected them with
enthusiasm. She knew of course the Museum at Naples. Craven had often
visited it when he had been staying at the Villa Rosebery. He could
remember clearly almost every important bronze in that wonderful
collection. He realized what "a living bronze" must mean when written of
by a woman. Miss Van Tuyn had evidently seen an amazingly handsome man
coming out of the Cafe Royal. But why should she tell him about it?
Perhaps her motive was the very o