egged. "You think that I am narrow, too old-fashioned in my views?
Perhaps I am, but, on the other hand, I am very anxious to learn and
absorb all that is best in this wider life. You can't really call me
prejudiced. I hated the stage before I came to London, but during the
last few months no one has been a more assiduous theatergoer. I
understand better than I did, and my views are immensely modified. I
admit that Louise is a great artist, I admit that she has wonderful
talents. I am even willing, if she wished it, to allow her to remain for
a time upon the stage. What could I say more? I want you on my side,
Graillot."

"And I," Graillot replied, as he shook his friend's hand and hurried
off, "want only to be on the side that will mean happiness for you
both."

He left the room a little abruptly. John walked back to the window,
oppressed with a sense of something almost ominous in the Frenchman's
manner, something which he could not fathom, against which he struggled
in vain. Side by side with it, there surged into his memory the
disquietude which his present relations with Louise had developed. She
was always charming when she had any time to spare--sometimes almost
affectionate. On the other hand, he was profoundly conscious of her
desire to keep him at arm's length for the present.

He had accepted her decision without a murmur. He made but few efforts
to see her alone, and when they met he made no special claim upon her
notice. He was serving his apprenticeship doggedly and faithfully. Yet
there were times like the present when he found his task both hateful
and difficult.

He walked aimlessly backward and forward, chafing against the restraint
of the narrow walls and the low ceiling. A sudden desire had seized him
to fly back to the hills, wreathed in mist though they might be; to
struggle on his way through the blinding rain, to drink down long gulps
of his own purer, less civilized atmosphere.

The telephone-bell rang. He placed the receiver to his ear almost
mechanically.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"Lady Hilda Mulloch is asking for you, sir," the hall-porter announced.

* * * * *

Lady Hilda peered around John's room through her lorgnette, and did not
hesitate to express her dissatisfaction.

"My dear man," she exclaimed, "what makes you live in a hotel? Why don't
you take rooms of your own and furnish them? Surroundings like these are
destructive to one's individualit