s of existence. Nan
Archdale was a citizen of the world--a freewoman of that dear kingdom of
romance which still contains so many fragrant byways and sunny oases for
those who have the will to find them. But for her freedom of this
kingdom she would have been a very sad woman, oppressed by the griefs
and sorrows of that other world to which she also belonged, for Nan's
human circle was ever widening, and in her strange heart there seemed
always room for those whom others rejected and despised.

She had the power no human being had ever had--that of making John
Coxeter jealous. This was the harder to bear inasmuch as he was well
aware that jealousy is a very ridiculous human failing, and one with
which he had no sympathy or understanding when it affected--as it
sometimes did--his acquaintances and colleagues. Fortunately for
himself, he was not retrospectively jealous--jealous that is of the dead
man of whom certain people belonging to his and to Nan's circle
sometimes spoke of as "poor Jim Archdale." Coxeter knew vaguely that
Archdale had been a bad lot, though never actually unkind to his wife;
nay, more, during the short time their married life had lasted,
Archdale, it seemed, had to a certain extent reformed.

Although he was unconscious of it, John Coxeter was a very material
human being, and this no doubt was why this woman had so compelling an
attraction for him; for Nan Archdale appeared to be all spirit, and that
in spite of her eager, sympathetic concern in the lives which circled
about hers.

And yet? Yet there was certainly a strong, unspoken link between them,
this man and woman who had so little in common the one with the other.
They met often, if only because they both lived in Marylebone, that most
conventional quarter of old Georgian London, she in Wimpole Street, he
in a flat in Wigmore Street. She always was glad to see him, and seemed
a little sorry when he left her. Coxeter was one of the rare human
beings to whom Nan ever spoke of herself and of her own concerns. But,
in spite of that curious kindliness, she did not do what so many people
who knew John Coxeter instinctively did--ask his advice, and, what was,
of course, more seldom done--take it. In fact he had sometimes angrily
told himself that Nan attached no weight to his opinion, and as time had
gone on he had almost given up offering her unsought advice.

John Coxeter attached great importance to health. He realized that a
perfect physical