s and the
barn owl came and made music for us."

"It is like a beautiful picture, the memory," she murmured.

"Build a fence around and keep it," he said. "Life there was an
abstraction, but a beautiful one. London has made man and woman of us,
but are we any happier, I wonder?"

"I am," she answered simply.

"You are happy because you have not grasped at shadows," he said,
bitterly. "You have taken the good which has come, and been thankful."

"And you," she replied, softly, "you are known already. In a few
months' time you will be famous."

"Ay, but shall I be happy?" he asked himself, only half aloud.

"If you will," she answered. "If you have spent any of your time
grasping at shadows, be thankful at least that you are man enough to
realise it and put them from you. Life should be a full thing for you.
Douglas, I think that you are wonderful. All that we dreamed of for you
has come true."

He looked into her face with a sudden intensity--a pretty face enough,
flushed and earnest.

"Cissy, help me to realise one at least of those dreams. Will you?"

She looked at him suddenly white, bewildered, a little doubtful.

"What do you mean, Douglas?"

"You were very dear to me in those days, Cissy," he said, leaning over
and taking her fingers into his. "You have always been dear to me. Our
plans for the future were always large enough for two. Take me into
yours--come into mine. Can you care for me enough for that?"

She was silent; her face was averted. They were alone, and his fingers
tightened upon hers.

"We never spoke of it in words, Cissy," he went on, "but I think we
understood. Will you help me to leave the shadows alone? Will you be
my wife?"

"You care--enough for that?" she asked, raising her eyes to his
suddenly.

A moment's wild revolt--a seething flood of emotions sternly repressed.
He met her eyes, and though there was no smile upon his lips, his tone
was firm enough.

"I care--enough for that, Cissy," he answered.

CHAPTER XXXV

THE NET OF JOAN'S VENGEANCE

Success--complete, overpowering, unquestioned. Douglas Jesson's novel
was more than the book of the season--it became and still remains a
classic. There is much talk nowadays by minor writers of the difficulty
of making a name, of the inaccessibility of the public. As a matter of
fact there never was a time when good work was so quickly recognised
both by the press and the public, never a novel which sees the light of
day