for him to call her back. Her feet lagged. She said to herself that
these clever men could be very stupid....

But Channing did not call her back. He followed the ascending figure, so
boyishly slender yet so instinct with feminine grace, with eyes that
held regret, and pity, and something else. When it was out of sight
among the upper trees, he heaved a sigh of relief.

"That was a narrow squeak, Percival, my boy," he admonished himself.
"Another instant, and it would have been all up with you. Time you were
finding pressing business elsewhere!"

As has been said, Mr. Channing knew himself extremely well; a knowledge
that was the result of expert study. He had learned that men pay a
penalty for keeping their emotions highly sensitized. They react too
readily to certain stimuli; they are not always under perfect control.
There are times when the only safety lies in flight.

However, he was not quite ready to flee. He had his novel to finish. It
is always a mistake, he had found, to change environment in the middle
of a book.

CHAPTER XXIV

Philip, true to his promise to himself, deliberately set about the
business of making friends with Jacqueline's lover. He found the matter
less difficult than he had expected. Channing was an agreeable surprise
to him. There was an atmosphere about him, man of the world that he was,
as comforting to the young country cleric as an open fire to one
unconsciously chilled. Philip recognized in the other a certain finish,
a certain fine edge of culture and comprehension, that had set his own
father apart from the people about them, kept him always a stranger in
his environment, even to the perceptions of a young boy. With Channing
he found many tastes in common, the love of books, of music, of art in
every form; as well as a keen interest in the study of humanity, pursued
by both from vastly different angles, but with equal ardor. Philip came
to understand very well the man's fascination for Jacqueline; but the
better he understood it, the more uneasy he became.

Channing's life seemed so rounded, so filled, so complete--what
permanent place was there in it for a crude, untrained little country
girl? He suspected that the author thought of her, as everybody else had
thought of her, as a charming, impulsive, beautiful child, whose
blandishments were almost impossible to resist; and he knew men well
enough to guess that Channing had not tried very hard to resist them.
Why shou