that separated us from them being intended for their need. What mattered
the colours, so that one followed the flag? Somewhere, all roads would
meet.

Arthur had to be in London generally once or twice a month, and it came
to be accepted that he should always call upon her and "take her out."
She had lost the self-sufficiency that had made roaming about London by
herself a pleasurable adventure; and a newly-born fear of what people
were saying and thinking about her made her shy even of the few friends
she still clung to, so that his visits grew to be of the nature of
childish treats to which she found herself looking forward--counting the
days. Also, she came to be dependent upon him for the keeping alight
within her of that little kindly fire of self-conceit at which we warm
our hands in wintry days. It is not good that a young woman should
remain for long a stranger to her mirror--above her frocks, indifferent
to the angle of her hat. She had met the women superior to feminine
vanities. Handsome enough, some of them must once have been; now sunk in
slovenliness, uncleanliness, in disrespect to womanhood. It would not be
fair to him. The worshipper has his rights. The goddess must remember
always that she is a goddess--must pull herself together and behave as
such, appearing upon her pedestal becomingly attired; seeing to it that
in all things she is at her best; not allowing private grief to render
her neglectful of this duty.

She had not told him of the Phillips episode. But she felt instinctively
that he knew. It was always a little mysterious to her, his perception
in matters pertaining to herself.

"I want your love," she said to him one day. "It helps me. I used to
think it was selfish of me to take it, knowing I could never return
it--not that love. But I no longer feel that now. Your love seems to me
a fountain from which I can drink without hurting you."

"I should love to be with you always," he answered, "if you wished it.
You won't forget your promise?"

She remembered it then. "No," she answered with a smile. "I shall keep
watch. Perhaps I shall be worthy of it by that time."

She had lost her faith in journalism as a drum for the rousing of the
people against wrong. Its beat had led too often to the trickster's
booth, to the cheap-jack's rostrum. It had lost its rallying power. The
popular Press had made the newspaper a byword for falsehood. Even its
supporters, while readi