her own will entirely out of his life. In those days, either might
easily have obtained an empire over him, for he was in a keenly
impressionable stage of living, passing through one of those crises
which, in men of more experience, come earlier in life. He was full of
emotions struggling for expression--it seemed to him, at last, that in
solitude he would never find an outlet for them. If he had known where
to look he would have sought for Cicely at all risks. He even looked
for her nightly at the spot of their first meeting--but always in vain.
It was as though she had vanished into thin air. By chance he heard of
her at last. She had sent some work to Drexley which he had decided to
accept. He spoke warmly of it, but when Douglas asked for her address
he shook his head. It had come to him with the proviso of anonymous
publication, and his own secrecy as to her whereabouts. He was able to
tell Douglas nothing, refused even when he was pressed. Douglas left
him with an angry exclamation upon his lips.

His solitude became intolerable. One night he looked out his dress
clothes and dined at a large cosmopolitan restaurant, where men and
women of all sorts were gathered together. Then for the first time he
realised something of the tawdriness of this life of pleasure, which
seemed ever calling to him through the open windows of his lonely room.
He had a small table to himself, ordered his dinner with care, and drank
champagne to bring his spirits so far as possible into touch with the
general atmosphere. There was music playing all the while, and the
ripple of gay feminine voices fell constantly upon his ears. Women were
all around him, gaily dressed and bejewelled, a soft, voluptuous wave of
enjoyment seemed floating about the place, enfolding them all--save him.
For as he watched and listened his face grew darker and his heart
heavier. He felt himself out of place, outside the orbit of these
people, very little in sympathy with them. He looked at the woman