good-humor with which he stated his
opinions softened their positiveness. Besides, she had invited them; and
she felt that they were correct. He was such another as Nasmyth, simple
in some respects, but reliable; one who could never be guilty of anything
mean. She liked the type in general, and she admitted that she liked this
representative of it in particular.

CHAPTER XIII

A FUTILE PROTEST

It was late at night, but Gladwyne sat, cigar in hand, in his library,
while Batley lounged beside the hearth. A wood fire diffused a faint
aromatic fragrance into the great high-ceilinged room, and the light of a
single silver lamp flickered on the polished floor, which ran back like a
sheet of black ice into the shadow. Heavily-corniced bookcases rose above
it on either band, conveying an idea of space and distance by the way
they grew dimmer as they receded from the light.

The room had an air of stateliness in its severe simplicity, and its
owner, sitting just inside the ring of brightness, clad in conventional
black and white, looked in harmony with it. Something in his finely-lined
figure and cleanly-molded face stamped him as one at home in such a
place. A decanter stood near his elbow, but it was almost full. Gladwyne,
in many ways, was more of an ascetic than a sensualist, though this was
less the result of moral convictions than of a fastidious temperament.
The man had an instinctive aversion for anything that was ugly or
unpleasant. His companion, dressed with an equal precision, looked
different, more virile, coarser; he was fuller in figure and heavier in
face.

"No," declared Gladwyne with a show of firmness; "the line must be drawn.
I've already gone farther than I should have done."

"I'm sorry for you, Gladwyne--you don't seem to realize that a man can't
very well play two widely different parts at once," Batley rejoined,
smiling. "Your interfering Canadian friend would describe your attitude
as sitting upon the fence. It's an uncomfortable position, one that's not
often tenable for any length of time. Hadn't you better make up your mind
as to which side you'll get down on?"

Gladwyne looked uneasy. The choice all his instinct prompted him to make
was not open to him, except at a cost which he was hardly prepared to
face. He was known as a bold rider, he had the steady nerves that usually
result from a life spent in the open air, but, as Batley recognized, he
lacked stamina.

"You are going wid