love of life was once more hot in his veins. Westwards, the chestnuts
were budding and the lilac was in blossom. London was beginning to
raise herself with a great yawn, and to remember that at this season of
the year, at least, she had a place amongst the beautiful cities of the
world. Douglas, good-natured always, to-night particularly happy, saw
Drexley standing alone as usual by the terrace window, and crossed over
to his side.

"Play me a game of billiards, Drexley," he exclaimed. "I've only half
an hour to spare."

Drexley turned his head only just sufficiently to see who it was that
addressed him.

"Is that you, Jesson?" he said. "No thanks. I gave up billiards long
ago."

Douglas remained by his side.

"They tell me," he remarked, "that two years ago you were the best
player in the club. Why don't you keep it up?"

"Lost interest," was the brief reply. "You can't do things well that
you don't care about, can you?"

Douglas forgot to answer. He was aware that his companion was watching
some one--a shabby, wan figure leaning over the palisading which
bordered the terrace below. His own heart gave a throb. He knew at
once who it was.