for us. . . . And mighty
badly sometimes! And that's why I can't--why I mustn't--"

He broke off abruptly, checking what he had intended to say. Nan felt as
though a door had been shut in her face. This man had a rare faculty for
implying everything and saying nothing.

"I don't understand," she said rather low.

"An artist isn't a free agent--not free to take the things life offers,"
he answered steadily. "He's seen 'the far Moon' with the Dreamer's eyes,
and that's probably all he'll ever see of it. His 'empty hands' may not
even grasp at the star."

He had adapted the verses very cleverly to suit his purpose. With a
sudden flash of intuition Nan understood him, and the fear which had
knocked at her heart, when Penelope had assumed that there was a definite
understanding between herself and Rooke, knocked again. Poetically
wrapped up, he was in reality handing her out her conge--frankly
admitting that art came first and love a poor second.

He twisted his shoulders irritably.

"Last talks are always odious!" he flung out abruptly.

"Last?" she queried. Her fingers were trifling nervously with the pages
of an album of songs that rested against the music-desk.

He did not look at her.

"Yes," he said quietly. "I'm going away. I leave for Paris to-morrow."

There was a crash of jangled notes as the album suddenly pitched forward
on to the keys of the piano.

With an impetuous movement he leaned towards her and caught her hand in
his.

"Nan!" he said hoarsely, "Nan! Do you care?"

But the next moment he had released her.

"I'm a fool!" he said. "What's the use of drawing a boundary line and
then overstepping it?"

"And where"--Nan's voice was very low--"where do you draw the line?"

He stood motionless a moment. Then he gestured a line with his hand--a
line between, himself and her.

"There," he said briefly.

She caught her breath. But before she could make any answer he was
speaking again.

"You've been very good to me, Nan--pushed the gate of Paradise at least
ajar. And if it closes now, I've no earthly right to grumble. . . .
After all, I'm only one amongst your many friends." He reclaimed her
hands and drew them against his breast. "Good-bye, beloved," he said.
His voice sounded rough and uneven.

Instinctively Nan clung to him. He released himself very gently--very
gently but inexorably.

"So it's farewell, Sun-kissed."

Mechanically she shook hands and her lips murmur