ithesis, and
polishing more than one lively paradox.

In his bedroom-study the fire had gone out. No matter; he would write in
the cold. It was mere amanuensis work, penning at the dictation of his
sarcastic demon. Was he a sybarite? Many a poor scribbler has earned bed
and breakfast with numb fingers. The fire in his body would serve him
for an hour or two.

So he sat down, and achieved his task to the last syllable. He read it
through, corrected it, made it up for post, and rose with the plaudits
of conscience. 'Who shall say now that I am a fop and a weakling?'

Half-past seven. Good; just time enough to appease his hunger and reach
Grove Lane by the suitable hour. He went out to the little coffee-shop
which was his resort in Spartan moods, ate with considerable appetite,
and walked over Westminster Bridge to the Camberwell tram. To kill time
on the journey he bought a halfpenny paper.

As he ascended Grove Lane his heart throbbed more than the exercise
warranted. At the door of the house, which he had never yet entered,
and which he had not looked upon for more than a year, he stood to calm
himself, with lips set and cheek pale in the darkness. Then a confident
peal at the knocker.

It was Mary who opened. He had never seen her, but knew that this grave,
hard-featured person, not totally unlike a born gentlewoman, must be
Mary Woodruff. And in her eyes he read a suspicion of his own identity.

'Is Miss. Lord at home?' he asked, in a matter-of-fact way.

'Yes.--What name shall I mention?'

'Mr. Tarrant.'

Her eyes fell, and she requested him to enter, to wait in the hall for
a moment; then went upstairs. She was absent for a few minutes, and on
returning asked him to follow her. She led to the drawing-room: on the
way, Tarrant felt a surprise that in so small a house the drawing-room
should be correctly situated on the upper floor.

Here he had again to wait. A comfortable room, he thought, and with a
true air of home about it. He knew how significant is this impression
first received on entering a strange abode; home or encampment,
attraction or repulsion, according to the mind of the woman who rules
there. Was it Nancy, or Mary, who made the atmosphere of the house?

The door opened, and he faced towards it.

Nancy's dress had an emphasis of fashion formerly unknown to it;
appropriate enough considering her new occupation. The flush upon her
cheeks, the light of doubtful meaning in her eyes, gave sple