any one else ever has. . . . It gives you
enormous gratification. . . . But I wonder if you think it's anything
more than your own cleverness. I suppose you have some love for me. . . .
But, if he wants you, I shall drop out of your life. . . . I was
happy, I didn't need you! You wrapped yourself round my life until you
saw that I couldn't do without you, and then--_if--he--wants you_! What
have you left for me?"

"Is it nothing to have brought me happiness?" she asked; but his
deep-toned reproach, unrehearsed, unstudied and faltering, had broken
through her surface emotions and shattered her self-absorption. "Eric,
I'm not every one! Your work----"

"D'you think I can ever write again? You never _did_ think much of
anything I wrote----"

"You know that I was only teasing you! That first night, when you were
so dreadfully pleased with yourself. . . . But I found you _were_ human,
after all, when I came home with you----"

"And broke 'the child's toy.'"

"Ah, why did you remind me of that?"

"I was reminded of it myself to-day. I'm not superstitious, but my luck
_has_ gone. I can't write any more."

"Eric, that's not true!"

He compressed his lips and shrugged his shoulders, resignedly.

"You know best, no doubt. Since we met, I've written the first draft of
a novel, which is unreadable, and a play. . . . I sent the play to
Manders about a fortnight ago."

"Without telling me? Don't you like sharing things with me any longer?"

The soft reproach in her voice maddened him. She seemed incapable of
seeing that she wanted the whole of him at a time when she was herself
momentarily drawing away.

"You choose a curious time to ask that question! There's nothing to
share. It's turned down, rejected. Nothing I can do to it will make it
even possible. I can't write any more, I'm used up. . . . Yes, we may
fairly say that my luck has gone. And that night, you may remember, you
recommended me to fall in love, because it would be so good for me. . . ."

4

Since the exchange of incapacitated prisoners began, there had been so
many delays and disappointments that the Warings remained in London,
with what patience they could muster, until they received news that
Jack's party was proceeding to Chateau d'Oex.

For reasons which he was at a loss to define Eric saw them off at
Charing Cross. They found time amid their jubilation to be grateful to
him for his trouble in making enquiries at the War Office and in
expedi