and energy. They had given him something to do. He had felt alive. His
uncle's legacy had left him with a sensation of abrupt stoppage. Life
had suddenly become aimless.

But now everything was altered. Once more the future was a thing of
importance, to-morrow a day to be looked forward to with keen
expectation.

He tried to throw his mind back to the last occasion when he had seen
Molly. He could not remember that he had felt any excessive emotion.
Between _camaraderie_ and love there is a broad gulf. It had certainly
never been bridged in the old New York days. Then the frank
friendliness of which the American girl appears to have the monopoly
had been Molly's chief charm in his eyes. It had made possible a
comradeship such as might have existed between men. But now there was
a difference. England seemed to have brought about a subtle change in
her. Instinctively he felt that the old friendship, adequate before,
was not enough now. He wanted more. The unexpected meeting, following
so closely upon Spike's careless words in London, had shown him his
true feelings. Misgivings crept upon him. Had he a right? Was it fair?
He looked back at the last eight years of his life with the eye of an
impartial judge. He saw them stripped of the glamour which triumphant
cunning had lent them; saw them as they would appear to Molly.

He scowled at his reflection in the glass. "You've been a bad lot, my
son," he said. "There's only one thing in your favor; and that is the
fact that you've cut it all out for keeps. We must be content with
that."

There was a furtive rap at the door. "Hullo?" said Jimmy. "Yes?"