is little different, if worn by a pretty girl, from a seventy
guinea Bond Street--is it Bond Street--rig out. Unless he is a man
milliner.

Jones said "beautiful," gave the palm to the blue, and watched them
carried off again by the maid.

He had left his cigarettes down stairs; there were some in a box on a
table, she made him take one and lit it for him, then she disappeared
into a room adjoining, returning in a few minutes dressed in a kimono
covered with golden swallows and followed by the maid. Then she took her
seat before a great mirror and the maid began to take down her hair and
brush it.

As the brushing went on she talked to the maid and to Jones
upon all sorts of subjects. To the maid about the condition of
her--Teresa's--hair, and a new fashion in hair dressing, to Jones about
the Opera, the stoutness of Caruso, and kindred matters.

The hair having been arranged in one great gorgeous plait, Jones
suddenly breaking free from a weird sort of hypnotism that had held him
since first entering the room, rose to his feet.

"I'll be back in a minute," said he.

He crossed the room, reached the door, opened it and passed out closing
the door. In the corridor he stood for half a moment with his hand to
his head.

Then he came down the stairs, crossed the hall, seized a hat and
overcoat, put them on and opened the hall door.

All the way down the stairs and across the hall, he felt as though he
were being driven along by some viewless force, and now, standing at the
door, that same force pushed him out of the house and on to the steps.

He closed the door, came down the steps, and turned to the right.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE MENTAL TRAP

It was a beautiful night, warm and starlit, the waning moon had just
begun to rise in the east and as he turned into the green Park a breath
of tepid wind, grass-scented and balmy blew in his face.

He walked in the direction of Buckingham Palace.

Where was he to go? He had no ideas, no plans.

He had failed in performing the Duty that Fate had arranged for him to
perform. He had failed, but not through cowardice, or at least not
through fear of consequences to himself.

The man who refuses to cut a lamb's throat, even though Duty calls him
to the act, has many things to be said for him.

His distracted mind was not dealing with this matter, however. What held
him entirely was the thought of her waiting for him and how she would
feel when she found he had