not wherefore, to construct something ere
he die. From Rameses to George IV. the coins lay within those
drawers--links of the long unbroken chain of authority.

Putting on an old black velvet jacket laid out for him across a chair,
and lighting the pipe that he could never bring himself to smoke in his
formal dinner clothes, he went to the right-hand cabinet, and opened it.
He stood with a smile, taking up coins one by one. In this particular
drawer they were of the best Byzantine dynasty, very rare. He did not
see that Cecilia had stolen in, and was silently regarding him. Her eyes
seemed doubting at that moment whether or no she loved him who stood
there touching that other mistress of his thoughts--that other mistress
with whom he spent so many evening hours. The little green-baize cover
fell. Cecilia said suddenly:

"Stephen, I feel as if I must tell Father where that girl is!"

Stephen turned.

"My dear child," he answered in his special voice, which, like
champagne, seemed to have been dried by artifice, "you don't want to
reopen the whole thing?"

"But I can see he really is upset about it; he's looking so awfully
white and thin."

"He ought to give up that bathing in the Serpentine. At his age it's
monstrous. And surely any other girl will do just as well?"

"He seems to set store by reading to her specially."

Stephen shrugged his shoulders. It had happened to him on one
occasion to be present when Mr. Stone was declaiming some pages of his
manuscript. He had never forgotten the discomfort of the experience.
"That crazy stuff," as he had called it to Cecilia afterwards, had
remained on his mind, heavy and damp, like a cold linseed poultice. His
wife's father was a crank, and perhaps even a little more than a crank,
a wee bit "touched"--that she couldn't help, poor girl; but any allusion
to his cranky produce gave Stephen pain. Nor had he forgotten his
experience at dinner.

"He seems to have grown fond of her," murmured Cecilia.

"But it's absurd at his time of life!"

"Perhaps that makes him feel it more; people do miss things when they
are old!"

Stephen slid the drawer back into its socket. There was dry decision in
that gesture.

"Look here! Let's exercise a little common sense; it's been sacrificed
to sentiment all through this wretched business. One wants to be kind,
of course; but one's got to draw the line."

"Ah!" said Cecilia; "where?"

"The thing," went on Stephen, "has been a mis