rs strutting affectedly in unnatural costumes; the
scenery was mere painted cloth, and the dialogue senseless inanity. With
all his might James wished that he were again in Africa, with work to do
and danger to encounter. There the solitude was never lonely, and the
nights were blue and silent, rich with the countless stars.

He had been in London a week. One day, towards evening, while he walked
down Piccadilly, looking aimlessly at the people and asking himself what
their inmost thoughts could be, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and a
cheery voice called out his name.

"I knew it was you, Parsons! Where the devil have you sprung from?"

He turned round and saw a man he had known in India. Jamie's solitude
and boredom had made him almost effusive.

"By Jove, I am glad to see you!" he said, wringing the fellow's hand.
"Come and have a drink. I've seen no one for days, and I'm dying to
have some one to talk to."

"I think I can manage it. I've got a train to catch at eight; I'm just
off to Scotland."

Jamie's face fell.

"I was going to ask you to dine with me."

"I'm awfully sorry! I'm afraid I can't."

They talked of one thing and another, till Jamie's friend said he must
go immediately; they shook hands.

"Oh, by the way," said the man, suddenly remembering, "I saw a pal of
yours the other day, who's clamouring for you."

"For me?"

James reddened, knowing at once, instinctively, that it could only be
one person.

"D'you remember Mrs. Pritchard-Wallace? She's in London. I saw her at a
party, and she asked me if I knew anything about you. She's staying in
Half Moon Street, at 201. You'd better go and see her. Good-bye! I must
simply bolt."

He left James hurriedly, and did not notice the effect of his few
words.... She still thought of him, she asked for him, she wished him to
go to her. The gods in their mercy had sent him the address; with
beating heart and joyful step, James immediately set out. The throng in
his way vanished, and he felt himself walking along some roadway of
ethereal fire, straight to his passionate love--a roadway miraculously
fashioned for his feet, leading only to her. Every thought left him but
that the woman he adored was waiting, waiting, ready to welcome him with
that exquisite smile, with the hands which were like the caresses of
Aphrodite, turned to visible flesh. But he stopped short.

"What's the good?" he cried, bitterly.

Before him the sun was setting like a visio