at them, to know you had more courage than all
of them put together, you who were once so afraid of them! To feel
that--even if they knew it was about yourself you were talking--that
even then they were afraid of you, and would to-morrow ask you back
again to their houses. That's power! That's worth doing! After all, you
can keep your love and your sympathy and your gentlemen; it's only to
men like me, men who've sweated and come up, that moments arise such as
I've had to-night.' And then, 'It's rather a pity,' he said, after a
pause, 'that of them all you alone knew of whom I was talking. Rather a
pity, isn't it?'" Sir John hesitated and looked about the table. "It
was unusual, wasn't it?" he said at length gently. "Have I been too
dramatic?"

In the little silence that followed, Mrs. Malcolm leaned forward, her
eyes starry. "I would rather," she said, "talk to Bewsher in his teepee
than talk to Morton with all his money."

Sir John looked at her and smiled--his charming smile. "Oh, no, you
wouldn't," he said. "Oh, no! We say those things, but we don't mean
them. If you sat next to Morton at dinner you'd like him; but as for
Bewsher you'd despise him, as all right-minded women despise a failure.
Oh, no; you'd prefer Morton."

"Perhaps you're right," sighed Mrs. Malcolm; "pirates are fascinating, I
suppose." She arose to her feet. Out of the shadows Lady Masters
advanced to meet her. "She _is_ like a mist," thought Mrs. Malcolm.
"Exactly like a rather faint mist."

Burnaby leaned over and lit a cigarette at one of the candles. "And, of
course," he said quietly, without raising his head, "the curious thing
is that this fellow Morton, despite all his talk of power, in the end is
merely a ghost of Bewsher, after all, isn't he?"

Sir John turned and looked at the bowed sleek head with a puzzled
expression. "A ghost!" he murmured. "I don't think I quite understand."

"It's very simple," said Burnaby, and raised his head. "Despite all
Morton has done, in the things worth while, in the things he wants the
most, he can at best be only a shadow of the shadow Bewsher has left--a
shadow of a man to the woman who loves Bewsher, a shadow of a friend to
the men who liked Bewsher, a shadow of a gentleman to the gentlemen
about him. A ghost, in other words. It's the inevitable end of all
selfishness. I think Bewsher has rather the best of it, don't you?"

"I--I had never thought of it in quite that light," said Sir John, and
fo