d to it,
and how interesting and exciting to see or hear of others yielding to it,
and how (though here, of course, men might differ secretly) reprehensible
of them to do so! They recognized, too well, how a certain kind of
conscience would appreciate this rumour; and how the puritans would lick
their lengthened chops. They knew, too, how irresistible to people of
any imagination at all, was the mere combination of a member of a class,
traditionally supposed to be inclined to having what it wanted, with a
lady who lived alone! As Harbinger said: It was really devilish awkward!
For, to take any notice of it would be to make more people than ever
believe it true. And yet, that it was working mischief, they felt by the
secret voice in their own souls, telling them that they would have
believed it if they had not known better. They hung about, waiting for
Miltoun to come in.

The news was received by Lady Valleys with a sigh of intense relief, and
the remark that it was probably another lie. When Barbara confirmed it,
she only said: "Poor Eustace!" and at once wrote off to her husband to
say that 'Anonyma' was still married, so that the worst fortunately could
not happen.

Miltoun came in to lunch, but from his face and manner nothing could be
guessed. He was a thought more talkative than usual, and spoke of
Brabrook's speech--some of which he had heard. He looked at Courtier
meaningly, and after lunch said to him:

"Will you come round to my den?"

In that room, the old withdrawing-room of the Elizabethan wing--where
once had been the embroideries, tapestries, and missals of beruffled
dames were now books, pamphlets, oak-panels, pipes, fencing gear, and
along one wall a collection of Red Indian weapons and ornaments brought
back by Miltoun from the United States. High on the wall above these
reigned the bronze death-mask of a famous Apache Chief, cast from a
plaster taken of the face by a professor of Yale College, who had
declared it to be a perfect specimen of the vanishing race. That visage,
which had a certain weird resemblance to Dante's, presided over the room
with cruel, tragic stoicism. No one could look on it without feeling
that, there, the human will had been pushed to its farthest limits of
endurance.

Seeing it for the first time, Courtier said:

"Fine thing--that! Only wants a soul."

Miltoun nodded:

"Sit down," he said.

Courtier sat down.

There followed one of those silences in wh