ion of a fact which is patent to every educated man
in the room; and one never knows what it is. One can only surmise that
it is that thirst for admiration which does more harm in the world than
the thirst for alcoholic stimulant which we fight with societies and
guilds, oaths and little snips of ribbon.

"The idea never entered my head," said Gordon.

"It has never been out of mine," replied Durnovo, with a little harsh
laugh which was almost pathetic. "I don't want you to do anything
now," he went on more gently. It was wonderful how well he knew Maurice
Gordon. The suggested delay appealed to one side of his nature, the
softened tone to another. "There is time enough. When I come back I will
speak of it again."

"You have not spoken to her?"

"No, I have not spoken to her."

Maurice Gordon shook his head.

"She is a queer girl," he said, trying to conceal the hope that was
in his voice. "She is cleverer than me, you know, and all that. My
influence is very small, and would scarcely be considered.

"But your interests would," suggested Durnovo. "Your sister is very fond
of you, and--I think I have one or two arguments to put forward which
she would recognise as uncommonly strong."

The colour which had been returning slowly to Maurice Gordon's face now
faded away again. His lips were dry and shrivelled as if he had passed
through a sirocco.

"Mind," continued Durnovo reassuringly, "I don't say I would use them
unless I suspected that you were acting in opposition to my wishes."

Gordon said nothing. His heart was throbbing uncomfortably--it seemed to
be in his throat.

"I would not bring forward those arguments except as a last resource,"
went on Victor Durnovo, with the deliberate cruelty of a tyrant. "I
would first point out the advantages; a fourth share in the Simiacine
scheme would make you a rich man--above suspicion--independent of the
gossip of the market-place."

Maurice Gordon winced visibly, and his eyes wavered as if he were about
to give way to panic.

"You could retire and go home to England--to a cooler climate. This
country might get too hot for your constitution--see?"

Durnovo came back into the centre of the room and stood by the
writing-table. His attitude was that of a man holding a whip over a
cowering dog.

He took up his hat and riding-whip with a satisfied little laugh, as if
the dog had cringingly done his bidding.

"Besides," he said, with a certain defiance of manner, "