to his billiards with a grim vision before his
eyes. Drexley was a broken man--of that there was no doubt. He knew
that his warning was kindly meant, but many times, both during that
evening and afterwards, he regretted that he had ever heard it. He had
come into the club almost lighthearted, thinking only of Cicely and of
the pleasant days of companionship which might still be theirs. He left
it at midnight vaguely restless and disturbed, with the work of weeks
destroyed. Emily de Reuss had regained her old place without the
slightest effort. Surely it was a hopeless struggle.

CHAPTER XXIII

CICELY'S SECRET

A hard week's work left Douglas little time for outside thoughts.
Besides his daily articles for the Courier, which in themselves were no
inconsiderable task, he had begun at last the novel, the plot of which
had for long been simmering in his brain. He had certainly received
every encouragement. Rawlinson, who had insisted upon seeing the
opening chapters, had at once made him an offer for the story, and the
publishing house with which he was connected, although of only recent
development, had already made a name and attained a unique position. He
gave up the club, and worked steadily every night at his rooms,
resolutely thrusting aside all alien thoughts, and immensely relieved to
find the excitement of literary creation gradually attaining its old
hold upon him. He took his meals at a shabby little restaurant, which
none of his associates frequented, declined all invitations, and retired
for the next seven days into an obscurity from which nothing could tempt
him. There came no word from Emily de Reuss, for which he was thankful,
and when he left the office at six o'clock on Thursday evening, and
lighting a cigarette strolled through a network of streets towards the
restaurant where he was to meet Cicely, he had very much the feeling of
a schoolboy whose tasks were laid aside and whose holiday lay before
him.

Cicely was there already, looking wonderfully bright and pretty, wearing
a new hat and a black and white dress, which, after her country-made
mourning, seemed positively smart. Douglas drew her hand through his
arm as they entered the room, and felt a pleasant sensation of
proprietorship at her laughing surrender. He chose a table where they
would least likely be disturbed, and imperilled his reputation with the
smiling waiter by ignoring the inevitable Chianti and calling for
champagne. Cicely