an act of charity to
tell me the gossip." Tristrem, as he made this invitation, marvelled at
his own duplicity. For the time being, he cared for the society of
Alphabet Jones as he cared for the companionship of a bum-bailiff. Yet
still he lured him from the Casino and led him up the road, in the hope
that perhaps without direct questioning he might gain some knowledge of
Her.

As they walked on Jones descanted in the arbitrary didactic manner which
is the privilege of men of letters whose letters are not in capitals,
and moralized on a variety of topics, not with any covert intention of
boring Tristrem, but merely from a habit he had of rehearsing ready-made
phrases and noting their effect on a particular listener. This exercise
he found beneficial. In airing his views he sometimes stumbled on a good
thing which he had not thought of in private. And as he talked Tristrem
listened, in the hope that he might say something which would permit him
to lead up to the subject that was foremost in his mind. But nothing of
such a nature was touched upon, and it was not until the cottage was
reached that Tristrem spoke at all.

"The Raritans have gone, I see," he remarked, nodding at the cottage as
he did so.

"Yes, I see by the papers that they sailed yesterday."

"You don't mean to say they have gone to Europe. I thought--I heard they
were going to Lenox."

"If they were, they changed their plans. Miss Raritan didn't seem up to
the mark when she was here. In some way she reminded me of a realized
ideal--the charm had departed. She used to be enigmatical in her beauty,
but this summer, though the beauty was still there, it was no longer
enigmatical, it was like a problem solved. After all, it's the way with
our girls. A winter or two in New York would take the color out of the
cheeks of a Red Indian. _Apropos de bottes_, weren't you rather smitten
in that direction?"

"And you say they have gone abroad?" Tristrem repeated, utterly
unimpressed by the ornateness of the novelist's remarks.

"Yes, sir; and were it not that our beastly Government declines to give
me the benefit of an international copyright, I should be able to go and
do likewise. It's enough to turn an author into an anarchist. Why, you
would be surprised----"

Jones rambled on, but Tristrem no longer listened. The position in which
he found himself was more irritating than a dream. He was dumbly
exasperated. It was his own inaction that was the cause of