ess, her whole vivid,
lonely, gripping charm, a look of suffering crossed his face. He
realised the hopelessness of it all, but the admission was like tearing
out a thread which had been woven into the whole scheme of his being.

'We both have our work to do,' he said wearily, letting his arms drop to
his side.

'Good-night.'

She answered, but did not give him her hand. With a repetition of the
farewell he left her, and she walked musingly into the room again. She
felt a flush of anger at his daring to say their friendship was
impossible, when she had not even suggested that it could ever be
resumed. His vanity knew no bounds. She was furious at having let him
hold her as he did--even more furious with the knowledge that she would
not have resisted if he had kissed her.

CHAPTER XVII.

MOONLIGHT.

I.

Two summers came and went, and the little park in St. James's Square
rested once more beneath its covering of autumn leaves.

Selwyn, who was still occupying the rooms of the absent New Yorker, was
looking over his morning mail. The thinning of his hair at the temples
was more pronounced, and here and there was the warning of premature
gray. He had lost flesh, but his face had steadied into a set
grimness, and his mouth had the firmness of one who had fought a long
uphill fight.

Looking through a heavy mail, he extracted a letter from his New York
agent:

'_Oct. 2nd, 1916_.

'DEAR MR. SELWYN,--You will be interested to know that the
extraordinary sensation caused by your writings in America has resulted
in the sale of them to Mr. J. V. Schneider for foreign rights. They
have been translated, and will shortly appear in the press of Spain,
Norway, Holland, and the various states of South America.

'It would be impossible for me to forward more than a small percentage
of the comments of our press on your work, but in my whole literary
experience I don't remember any writer who has caused such a storm of
comment on every appearance as you. As you can see by the selection I
have made, the papers are by no means entirely favourable. I feel that
you should know that you are openly accused of pro-Germanism, of being
a conscientious objector, &c., &c.--all of which, of course, means
excellent advertisement.

'I have had many inquiries as to whether you would care to conduct a
lecture-tour. There is a Mr. C. B. Benjamin, who is financially
interested in Mr. Schneider's affairs, and who is wi