of
his duty to his colossal public, and his potentiality for good.

He put aside a book which he had already haltingly commenced, and began
a new one, in which a victim to the passion for gambling was redeemed by
the love of a pure young girl. It contained dramatic scenes in Paris, in
the _train de luxe_, and in Monte Carlo. One of the most striking scenes
was a harmony of moonlight and love on board a yacht in the
Mediterranean, in which sea Veronica prevailed upon Hubert to submerge
an ill-gotten gain of six hundred and sixty-three thousand francs,
although the renunciation would leave Hubert penniless. Geraldine
watched the progress of this book with absolute satisfaction. She had no
fault to find with it. She gazed at Henry with large admiring eyes as he
read aloud to her chapter after chapter.

'What do you think I'm going to call it?' he had demanded of her once,
gleefully.

'I don't know,' she said.

'_Red and Black_,' he told her. 'Isn't that a fine title?'

'Yes,' she said. 'But it's been used before;' and she gave him
particulars of Stendhal's novel, of which he had never heard.

'Oh, well!' he exclaimed, somewhat dashed. 'As Stendhal was a Frenchman,
and his book doesn't deal with gambling at all, I think I may stick to
my title. I thought of it myself, you know.'

'Oh yes, dearest. I _know_ you did,' Geraldine said eagerly.

'You think I'd better alter it?'

Geraldine glanced at the floor. 'You see,' she murmured, 'Stendhal was a
really great writer.'

He started, shocked. She had spoken in such a way that he could not be
sure whether she meant, 'Stendhal was a really _great_ writer,' or,
'_Stendhal_ was a _really_ great writer.' If the former, he did not
mind, much. But if the latter--well, he thought uncomfortably of what
Tom had said to him in the train. And he perceived again, and more
clearly than ever before, that there was something in Geraldine which
baffled him--something which he could not penetrate, and never would
penetrate.

'Suppose I call it _Black and Red_? Will that do?' he asked forlornly.

'It would do,' she answered; 'but it doesn't sound so well.'

'I've got it!' he cried exultantly. 'I've got it! _The Plague-Spot._
Monte Carlo the plague-spot of Europe, you know.'

'Splendid!' she said with enthusiasm. 'You are always magnificent at
titles.'

And it was universally admitted that he was.

The book had been triumphantly finished, and the manuscript delivered to
Macali