e other, smiling. 'Will you
let me see it when it's done?'

'Who knows if I shall finish it? Nothing I ever undertook has been
finished yet--nothing won that I ever aimed at. Good night. Let me hear
about Malkin.'

In a week's time Godwin received another summons to Staple Inn, with
promise of Malkin's assured presence. In reply he wrote:

'Owing to a new arrangement at Bates's, I start tomorrow for my holiday
in Cornwall, so cannot see you for a few weeks. Please offer Malkin my
apologies; make them (I mean it) as profuse as those he telegraphed.
Herewith I send you my paper, "The New Sophistry", which I have written
at a few vehement sittings, and have carelessly copied. If you think it
worth while, will you have the kindness to send it for me to _The
Critical_? I haven't signed it, as my unmeaning name would perhaps
indispose the fellow to see much good in it. I should thank you if you
would write in your own person, saying that you act for a friend; you
are probably well known in those quarters. If it is accepted, time
enough to claim my glory. If it seems to you to have no chance, keep it
till I return, as I hate the humiliation of refusals.--Don't think I
made an ass of myself the other night. We will never speak on that
subject again. All I said was horribly sincere, but I'm afraid you
can't understand that side of my nature. I should never have spoken so
frankly to Moxey, though he has made no secret with me of his own
weaknesses. If I perish before long in a South American swamp, you will
be able to reflect on my personality with completer knowledge, so I
don't regret the indiscretion.'

CHAPTER III

'_Pereunt et imputantur_.'

Godwin Peak read the motto beneath the clock in Exeter Cathedral, and
believed it of Christian origin. Had he known that the words were found
in Martial, his rebellious spirit would have enjoyed the consecration
of a phrase from such an unlikely author. Even as he must have laughed
had he stood in the Vatican before the figures of those two Greek
dramatists who, for ages, were revered as Christian saints.

His ignorance preserved him from a clash of sentiments. This afternoon
he was not disposed to cynicism; rather he welcomed the softening
influence of this noble interior, and let the golden sunlight form what
shapes it would--heavenly beam, mystic aureole--before his mind's eye.
Architecture had no special interest for him, and the history of church
or faith could seldom