both her hands.

On the stairs he passed Drexley with a bunch of violets in his coat and
a new light in his face. A. sudden impulse of anger seized him. The
second cup on the teatray upstairs, the glowing chrysanthemums, the
change in Cicely--here was the meaning of these things. But for him,
she would have been content with what he had to give her.

"Damn you, Drexley," he muttered . . . but at the foot of the
stairs he looked up. It was only a momentary impulse. It was not in
his nature to grudge any man his salvation.

"Sorry, old chap," he called up. "Good luck to you."

He walked down the street with the echo of Drexley's cheerful reply
still in his ears.

CHAPTER XXXVIII

"SHE WAS A WOMAN: I WAS A COWARD!"

Again Douglas found himself face to face with a future emptied of all
delight, only this time as a saner and an older man. The growth of his
literary powers, an increased virility, following upon the greater
freedom of his life, and the cessation of those haunting fears which had
ever hung like a shadow over his earlier days in London, came to his
aid. All that was best and strongest in his character was called into
action. He faced his future like a brave man determined to make the
most of his days--to make the best use of the powers which he
undoubtedly possessed. He remodelled his manner of living to suit his
altered circumstances, took rooms in Jermyn Street which he furnished
quietly but comfortably, and although he never became a society man, he
went out often and did not indulge in an excess of solitude. He had
grown older and graver, but had lost none of his good looks, and was
particularly careful never to pose as a man of disappointments. Of
Emily de Reuss he saw or heard nothing. She seemed to have vanished
completely from her place in society, and although he ventured to make a
few careful inquiries he never chanced to come across any one who could
tell him anything about her. It was astonishing how soon she was
forgotten, even amongst those who had been her greatest admirers. He
seldom heard her name mentioned, and although he never failed to believe
that she would return some day to London, he set himself as deliberately
as possible to forget her. On the whole, he believed that he was
succeeding very well. He was a favourite amongst women, for he treated
them charmingly, always with a ready and natural gallantry, but always
with the most profound and unvarying respect. Only the very ke