her under the brilliant chandelier.

"I don't want you to feel you have anything against me," he cooed
still more softly.

Silence reigned. Edward Henry resumed his chair, and gazed at Rose
Euclid. She was quite a dozen years older than his wife, and she
looked more than a dozen years older. She had no fixed home, no
husband, no children, no regular situation. She accepted the homage
of young men, who were cleverer than herself save in one important
respect. She was always in and out of restaurants and hotels and
express trains. She was always committing hygienic indiscretions. She
could not refrain from a certain girlishness which, having regard
to her years, her waist and her complexion, was ridiculous. His
wife would have been afraid of her and would have despised her,
simultaneously. She was coarsened by the continual gaze of the gaping
public. No two women could possibly be more utterly dissimilar than
Rose Euclid and the cloistered Nellie.... And yet, as Rose Euclid's
hesitant fingers closed on the bank-notes with a gesture of relief,
Edward Henry had an agreeable and kindly sensation that all women were
alike, after all, in the need of a shield, a protection, a strong and
generous male hand. He was touched by the spectacle of Rose Euclid, as
naive as any young lass when confronted by actual bank-notes; and he
was touched also by the thought of Nellie and the children afar off,
existing in comfort and peace, but utterly, wistfully, dependent on
himself.

"And what about me?" growled Carlo Trent.

"You!"

The fellow was only a poet. He negligently dropped him five fivers,
his share of the option's value.

Mr. Marrier said nothing, but his eye met Edward Henry's, and in
silence five fivers were meted out to Mr. Marrier also.... It was so
easy to delight these persons who apparently seldom set eyes on real
ready money.

"You might sign receipts, all of you, just as a matter of form," said
Edward Henry.

A little later the three associates were off.

"As we're both in the hotel, Mr. Sachs," said Edward Henry, "you might
stay for a chat and a drink."

Mr. Seven Sachs politely agreed.

Edward Henry accompanied the trio of worshippers and worshipped to the
door of his suite, but no further, because of his dressing-gown. Rose
Euclid had assumed a resplendent opera-cloak. They rang imperially for
the lift. Lackeys bowed humbly before them. They spoke of taxi-cabs
and other luxuries. They were perfectly at