he drive.

"Yes, indeed," said Doria.

Jaffery shook his fist at the disappearing car.

"One of these days, I'll break his infernal neck!"

"Why?" asked Doria, on a sharp note of enquiry.

"I don't like him," said Jaffery. "And he's taking her out to dine among
all that circus crowd. It's damnable!"

"For the lady whose father stuck pigs in Chicago," said Doria. "I should
think it was rather a rise in the social scale."

And she went indoors with her nose in the air. To every one save the
puzzled Jaffery it was obvious that she disapproved of his interest in
Liosha.

CHAPTER XVI

"The Greater Glory" came out in due season, puzzled the reviewers and
made a sensation; a greater sensation even than a legitimate successor
to "The Diamond Gate" dictated by the spirit of Tom Castleton. The
contrast was so extraordinary, so inexplicable. It was generally
concluded that no writer but Adrian Boldero, in the world's history, had
ever revealed two such distinct literary personalities as those that
informed the two novels. The protean nature of his genius aroused
universal wonder. His death was deplored as the greatest loss sustained
by English letters since Keats. The press could do nothing but hail the
new book as a masterpiece. Barbara and myself, who, alone of mortals,
knew the strange history of the two books, did not agree with the press.
In sober truth "The Greater Glory" was not a work of genius; for, after
all, the only hallmark of a work of genius that you can put your finger
on is its haunting quality. That quality Tom Castleton's work possessed;
Jaffery Chayne's did not. "The Greater Glory" vibrated with life, it was
wide and generous, it was a capital story; but, unlike "The Diamond
Gate," it could not rank with "The Vicar of Wakefield" and "David
Copperfield." I say this in no way to disparage my dear old friend, but
merely to present his work in true proportion. Published under his own
name it would doubtless have received recognition; probably it would
have made money; but it could not have met with the enthusiastic
reception it enjoyed when published under the tragic and romantic name
of Adrian Boldero.

Of course Jaffery beamed with delight. His forlorn hope had succeeded
beyond his dreams. He had fulfilled the immediate needs of the woman he
loved. He had also astonished himself enormously.

"It's darned good to let you and Barbara know," said he, "that I'm not a
mere six foot of beef and th