Lionel was angry with himself that he felt galled. But in his wounded
pride there was no mercenary regret,--only that sort of sickness which
comes to youth when the hollowness of worldly life is first made clear to
it. From the faces round him there fell that glamour by which the /amour
propre/ is held captive in large assemblies, where the /amour propre/ is
flattered. "Magnificent, intelligent audience," thinks the applauded
actor. "Delightful party," murmurs the worshipped beauty. Glamour!
glamour! Let the audience yawn while the actor mouths; let the party
neglect the beauty to adore another, and straightway the "magnificent
audience" is an "ignorant public," and the "delightful party" a
"heartless world."




CHAPTER IX.

Escaped from a London drawing-room, flesh once more tingles and
blood flows.--Guy Darrell explains to Lionel Haughton why he holds
it a duty to be an old fool.

Lionel Haughton glided through the disenchanted rooms, and breathed a
long breath of relief when he found himself in the friendless streets.

As he walked slow and thoughtful on, he suddenly felt a hand upon his
shoulder, turned, and saw Darrell.

"Give me your arm, my dear Lionel; I am tired out. What a lovely night!
What sweet scorn in the eyes of those stars that we have neglected for