urage in a man of Edmund's age to begin to work for six
hours or more a day at journalism. He also produced two articles on
foreign politics for the reviews, which made a considerable impression.
It was important now that Edmund had read and watched, and, even more
important, listened very attentively to what busier men than himself had
to say during twenty years of life spent in the world. Years afterwards,
when Grosse had in the second half of his life done as much work as
many men would think a good record for their whole lives, people were
surprised to read his age in the obituary notices. They had rightly
dated the beginning of his career from his first appearance as an
authority on foreign politics, but they had not realised that Grosse had
begun to work only in the midstream of life. Many brilliant springs are
delusive in their promise, but rarely is there such achievement after an
unprofitable youth.

Love is not the whole life of a man, but, in spite of new activities, in
spite of a renewed sense of self-respect, Edmund had time and space
enough for much pain in his heart.

Rose was still in Paris taking care of her mother, who was very unwell.
Edmund had hinted at the possibility of going over to see them at
Easter, but the suggestion had met with no encouragement. He had felt
rebuffed, and was in no mood to be smoothed or melted by Rose's written
sympathy. He was, no doubt, harder as well as stronger than before his
financial troubles. He let Rose see that he could stand on his feet, and
was not disposed to whine. Meanwhile Molly had provoked him to single
combat. The decided cut she gave him at the Court was not to be
permitted; he was too old a hand to allow anything so crude. He meant to
be at her parties; he meant to keep in touch; indeed he meant to see
this thing out.

"Sir Edmund, will you take Miss Dexter in to dinner?"

Edmund looked fairly surprised and very respectful as Mrs. Delaport
Green spoke to him. Molly's bearing was, he could see, defiant, but she
was clearly quite conscious of having to submit and anxious to do
nothing absurd.

They ate their soup in silence, for Molly's other neighbour had shown an
unflattering eagerness to be absorbed by the lady he had taken down.
Edmund turned to her with exactly his old shade of manner, very
paternal, intimate and gentle.

"And you are not bored yet?"

Molly could have sworn deep and long had it been possible.

"No; why should I be?"

Sh