of his life was at the eye, where the
monocle was caught now as in a vise. Behind this glass there was a
troubled depth which belied the self-indulgent mouth, the egotism
speaking loudly in the red tie, the jewelled finger, the ostentatiously
simple yet sumptuous clothes.

At last he drew in a sharp, sibilant breath, clicked his tongue--a
sound of devil-may-care and hopelessness at once--and turned to a little
cupboard behind him. The chair squeaked on the floor as he turned, and
he frowned, shivered a little, and kicked it irritably with his heel.

From the cupboard he took a bottle of liqueur, and, pouring out a small
glassful, drank it off eagerly. As he put the bottle away, he said
again, in an abstracted fashion, "Kathleen!"

Then, seating himself at the table, as if with an effort towards energy,
he rang a bell. A clerk entered. "Ask Mr. Wantage to come for a moment,"
he said. "Mr. Wantage has gone to the church--to the wedding," was the
reply.

"Oh, very well. He will be in again this afternoon?"

"Sure to, sir."

"Just so. That will do."

The clerk retired, and Charley, rising, unlocked a drawer, and taking
out some books and papers, laid them on the table. Intently, carefully,
he began to examine them, referring at the same time to a letter which
had lain open at his hand while he had been sitting there. For a quarter
of an hour he studied the books and papers, then, all at once, his
fingers fastened on a point and stayed. Again he read the letter lying
beside him. A flush crimsoned his face to his hair--a singular flush
of shame, of embarrassment, of guilt--a guilt not his own. His breath
caught in his throat.

"Billy!" he gasped. "Billy, by God!"

CHAPTER V. THE WOMAN IN HELIOTROPE

The flush was still on Charley's face when the door opened slowly, and
a lady dressed in heliotrope silk entered, and came forward. Without a
word Charley rose, and, taking a step towards her, offered a chair;
at the same time noticing her heightened colour, and a certain rigid
carriage not in keeping with her lithe and graceful figure. There was no
mistaking the quiver of her upper lip--a short lip which did not hide a
wonderfully pretty set of teeth.

With a wave of the hand she declined the seat. Glancing at the books and
papers lying on the table, she flashed an inquiry at his flushed face,
and, misreading the cause, with slow, quiet point, in which bitterness
or contempt showed, she said meaningly:

"Wh