Kara turned. He stood immediately behind the author and the other
could not see his face. There was, however, in his voice an
unusual earnestness and an unusual quiet vehemence.

"What have you to complain about!" he asked, with that little
drawl of his. "You have your own creative work - the most
fascinating branch of labour that comes to a man. He, poor
beggar, is bound to actualities. You have the full range of all
the worlds which your imagination gives to you. You can create
men and destroy them, call into existence fascinating problems,
mystify and baffle ten or twenty thousand people, and then, at a
word, elucidate your mystery."

John laughed.

"There is something in that," he said.

"As for the rest of your life," Kara went on in a lower voice, "I
think you have that which makes life worth living - an
incomparable wife."

Lexman swung round in his chair, and met the other's gaze, and
there was something in the set of the other's handsome face which
took his breath away.

"I do not see - " he began.

Kara smiled.