little sob of relief, Cicely saw at last that they had reached
their own street. The elder girl produced a key and drew a long sigh.
Then she looked curiously down at her companion.

"You'll go back to Feldwick to-morrow, or maybe Saturday, Cicely," she
said. "You understand now?"

"How long--will this go on?"

Joan drew herself up. The fierceness of the prophetess was in her dark
face.

"Till my hands are upon him," she said. "Till I have dragged him out
from the shadows of this hateful city."

CHAPTER XVII

A PLAIN QUESTION AND A WARNING

Douglas Jesson had his opportunity, accepted it and became one of the
elect. He passed on to the staff of the Courier, where his work was
spasmodic and of a leisurely character, but always valuable and
appreciated. His salary, which was liberal, seemed to him magnificent.
Besides, he had the opportunity of doing other work. All the magazines
were open to him, although he was tied down to write for no other
newspaper. The passionate effort of one night of misery had brought him
out for ever from amongst the purgatory of the unrecognised. For his
work was full of grit, often brilliant, never dull. Even Drexley, who
hated him, admitted it. Emily de Reuss was charmed.

Douglas's first visit was to Rice, whom he dragged out with him to
lunch, ordering such luxuries as were seldom asked for at Spargetti's.
They lingered over their cigarettes and talked much. Yet about Rice
there was a certain restraint, the more noticeable because of his host's
gaiety. Douglas, well-dressed, debonair, with a flower in his
buttonhole, and never a wrinkle upon his handsome face, was in no humour
for reservations. He filled his companion's glass brimful of wine, and
attacked him boldly.

"I want to know," he said, "what ails my philosophic friend. Out with
it, man. Has Drexley been more of a bear than usual, or has Spargetti
ceased his credit?"

"Neither," Rice answered, smiling. "Drexley is always a bear, and
Spargetti's credit is a thing which not one of the chosen has ever seen
the bottom of."

"Then what in the name of all that is unholy," Douglas asked, "ails
you?"

Rice lighted a cigarette, glanced around, and leaned over the table.

"You, my friend and host. You are upon my mind. I will confess."

Douglas nodded and waited. Rice seemed to find it not altogether easy
to continue. He dropped his voice. The question he asked was almost a
whisper.

"Is your name really Douglas Jess