CHAPTER II


Some weeks passed; but we heard no more of Jaffery Chayne. If he had
planted his widow there, in Cettinje, and gone off to Central Africa we
should not have been surprised. On the other hand, he might have walked
in at any minute, just as though he lived round the corner and had
dropped in casually to see us.

In the meantime events had moved rapidly for Adrian. Everybody was
talking about his book; everybody was buying it. The rare phenomenon of
the instantaneous success of a first book by an unknown author was
occurring also in America. Golden opinions were being backed by golden
cash. Adrian continued to draw on his publishers, who, fortunately for
them, had an American house. Anticipating possible alluring proposals
from other publishers, they offered what to him were dazzling and
fantastic terms for his next two novels. He accepted. He went about the
world wearing Fortune like a halo. He achieved sudden fame; fame so
widespread that Mr. Jornicroft heard of it in the city, where he
promoted (and still promotes) companies with monotonous success. The
result was an interview to which Adrian came wisely armed with a note
from his publisher as to sales up to date, and the amazing contract
which he had just signed. He left the house with a father's blessing in
his ears and an affianced bride's kisses on his lips. The wedding was
fixed for September. Adrian declared himself to be the happiest of God's
creatures and spent his days in joy-sodden idleness. His mother, with
tears in her eyes, increased his allowance.