"'
.9! “v
“mi iNfiTALLMINfi
”VIII—Continued
.u 'aking off his cost. but
a tie operation.
morning?" he said. “Oh.
hen. struck by the oppor-
words gave him, he turn-
ris the secretary. “You've
{w used to me. Greening,” he
"i‘ou haven't quite grasped
. I can see. I‘m a man of
. you know. Up to the pres-
u‘ve seen my slack side, my
. side, but I have quite another
I care to show it. I'm a sort
uyll-and-Hyde affair." Again
whorl, and Greening echoed the
limdently. Chilcote had evi-
discouraged familiarity.
.pr eyed him with abrupt under-
it .1. He recognized the loneli-
1'1 the anxious, conciliatory
i‘l'
u‘rn tired," he said. kindly.
o bed. I’ve got some thinking
Hood-night." He held out
n 4
first took it. still half distrust-
f“ s fresh side to so complex
night, air." he said. "To-
ii you approve. I shall go
.. my notes. I hope you will
lrwsiful night."
, 1! second Loder’s eyebrows
1;. but he recovered himself in-
.;y.
k, thanks, Greening." he said.
“in I think your hope will he
I‘gr’, '
mtrhed the little secretary
s vftly and apologetically to the
: than he walked to the fire, and,
it: his elbows on the mantel-
he took his face in his hands.
a space he stood absolutely
rhen his hands dropped to his
...1rl he turned slowly round.
p .hort ’space he had balanced
pr'd found his bearings. The
lit nvrvousness shown in his
as wntences and overconfident
nor it led out, and he faced facts
d'flv,
i::; ::..> return of his calmness he
a . * 4 survey of the room. His
re ':..;‘itcned appreciatively as
print (mm the walls lined with
-boun l hooks to the lamps medu-
to if .. proper light; from the
. to my desk fitted with every
‘tsvm. Nothing was lacking.
clad once possessed, all he had
trained of. was here. but on a
sale. To enjoy the luxuries
Iran must go long witth
lodcr had lived severely—so
ihat until three weeks ago
. beizuved himself exempt from
uptations of humanity. Then
nice of the world had spoken.
within him another voice had
md, with the tone so clamor-
tnsistent that it had outcried
arprised and incredulous won-
st its existence and its claims.
had been the voice of suppress-
witldll; and now as he stood in
new atmosphere a newer voice
. itself. The Joy of material
I rose suddenly, everbalancing
his: remnant of the philosophy
'1 reared. He saw all things in a
, light—the soft carpets. the soft
1, the numberless pleasant, un-
Mary things that color the pass-
adscape and oil the wheels of
This was power—power made
at. The choice bindings of
looks. the quiet harmony of
lurroundlngs, the gratifying
cc of one's dependents—these
tars be had forgotten.
mg the room slowly, he lifted
Wed at the different papers on
link They had a substantial
i. an importance. an air of
They were like the solemn
of so many vexed problems. Be-
th- papers were a heap of let-
mu,- arranged and as yet un-
lle turned them over one
o. Ttmy were all thick, and in-
‘Yi: to look at, He smiled as be
A". s own scanty mall; en-
. .; and bulky or narrow
ifl' ~-".nwclcome manuscripts or
‘7. ‘ "rte checks. Having sorted
”in. he hesitated. It was his
" -r; them. but be had never
5 I "t'wnorl an envelope ad-
“. m in. filter man.
If" f ‘ ' "i-riain, weighing them
I hat?
ll
..i'
i-
u..- visible, the outward signs. ’
books and gowned in pale blue, had
a suggestion of youthfulness that
membranes of Chiicote’s epithets
“coldf' and “unsympathetic" came
back to him with something like as-
tonishment. He felt no uncertainty,
no dread of discovery and humilia-
tion in her presence as he had felt
in the maid's: yet there was some-
thing in her face that made him in-
finitely more uncomfortable. A look
he could find no name foo-a friend-
liness that studiously covered an-
other feeling. whether question, dis-
trust, or actual dislike he could not
say. With a strange sensation of
awkwardness he sorted Chilcote‘s
letters. waiting for her to speak.
As if divining his thought. she
turned towards him. "I‘m afraid I
rather intrude." she said. “If you
are busy—"
His sense of courtesy was touch-
ed: he had begun life with a high
opinion of women, and the words
shook up an echo of the old senti-
ment.
"Dont think that.” he said, hastily.
“I was only looking through—my
letters. You mustn‘t rate yourself be-
low letters. He was conscious that his
tone was hurried,
were a little Jagged; but Eve did not
appear to notice. Unlike Greening,
she took the new manner without
surprise. She had known Chilcote
for six years.
"I dined with the Fraides to-nlght,”
she said. “Mr. Fraide sent you a
message."
Unconsciously Loder smiled. There
was humor in the thought of a mes-
sage to him from the great Fraide.
To hide his amusement be wheeled
one of the big loungechairs forward
“Indeed." he said. “Won't you sit
down?"
They were near together now, and
he saw her face more fully. Again
he was taken aback. Chilcote had
spoken of her as successful and in-
telligent. but never as beautiful. Yet
her beauty was a rare and uncom-
mon fact. Her hair was black—not
a glossy black, but the dusky black
that is softer than any brown; her
eyes were large and of a peculiarly
pure blue; and her eyelashes were
black, beautifully curved and of re-
markable thickness.
“Won't you sit down?” he said
again, cutting short his thoughts
with some confusion.
“Thank you." She gravely accept-
ed the proffered chair. But he saw
that without any ostentation she
drew her skirts aside as she passed
him. The action displeased him un-
accountably.
"Well," he said, shortly, "what
had Fraide to say?” He walked to
the manteLpiece with his customary
movement and stood watching her.
The instinct towards hiding his face
had left him. Her instant and unin-
terested acceptance of him almost
nettled him: his own halfocontemptu-
ous impression of Cbiicote came to
him unpleasantly, and with it the
first desire to assert his own indi-
viduality. Stung by the conflicting
emotions. he felt in Chilcote's pock-
ets for something to smoke.
Eve saw and interpreted the ac-
tion. “Are these your cigarettes?"
She leaned towards a small table and
took up a box of lizard-skin.
"Thanks." He took the box from
her. and as it passed from one to the.
other he saw her glance at his rings.
The glance was momentary; her lips
parted to express question or sur-
prise, then closed again without com-
meat. More than any spoken words.
the incident showed the gulf that
separated husband and wife.
“Well?" he said again,
about Fraide?"
At his words she sat straighter and
looked at him more directly. as l
bracing herself to a task. .
“Mr. Fraide is—is as interested as
ever in you," she began.
"Or in you?" Loder made the in-
terruption precisely as he felt Chil-
cote would have made it. Then in-
stantly he wished the words back.
Eve's warm skin colored more
deeply; for a second the inscrutable
“what
underlying expression that puzzled
him showed in her eyes, then she.
sank back into a corner of the chair.
“Why do you make such a point
TL"! 3" it 0““ 3 ‘00“ of sneering at my friends?” she ask-
:“nfl‘fin ”M “"9”“ "0”“! M. ed. quietly. "I overlook it when you
"-4 11" ml'e'i his head. Some are—nervous."
Ad nn'y 'E‘jkd‘d
’10“? \l 1.
! :h-n
V-way: then, pl Loder made
She had apparently but
iliriactively realized the mo-
5! the desk silent and awk-
She halted slightly
3 paused 0‘3"“ on the word. - “But you are not nerv-
‘ Greening had left ous to-night."
Loder. to his great humiliation.
'
‘~’" Ni a moment of apparent ,reddened. Except for an occasional
a stir of skirts, a quick. outburst on the part of Mrs. Rob-
.m k‘m‘k,’ and the intruder ins, his charwoman, he had not
merited a woman’s displeasure for
| "”-.’>le of seconds she stood years.
“The sneer was unintentional.” he
3 to speak, she moved into said.
For the first time Eve showed a
n-ned from some entertain- personal interest. She looked at
tor, though she had drawn off him in s pusaled way.
I c‘oves, she was still wean apology was meant." she said, hesi-
'- owning cloak of lace and fur. tstingiy. “I should be glad to accept
m. was Cbllcote's wife be- u." ‘ *
"If your
Loder. uncertain of how to take
Ibo entered the room. But a the words. moved back to the desk.
" Ping confusion of ideas was He carried an unligbted cigarette be-
followed the knowledge. no tween his fingers.
There was an interval in which
"m: to fit his expectations neither spoke. Then. at last. con-
' knowledge. Then faced by scion. of its awkwardness. 3" rose.
'~ teamessoffhetslkhetun- With one hand on the back other
' l! and looked at be! again. chair. she looked at him.
hid taken oif her cloak and
“dill by the firaOThe com-
‘otmovingthrosghlifssloae words—“that
'tlualuponhsrinscertaln on
on a certain mam yeast-e
. 'roemtbougbtfallysudllroppedinto
“lr.l‘raidethlnksit'lllcla _ thechairthssahehadvacstsd. He
tear-momma.“ crtferatimeleekiagstthehaad
er
Iretherfislreashedmthm
new
‘1!
fifefammdr
inn-rem First National
that his words ~
the corridor. .
seemed a contradiction. The re- JOHN CHILCOTE, member 'ofxthe House of Commons, .
to hurry from his place when Parliament adjourns on a January pight
that is'marked by the blackest fog in years and the news of border
rising: against the'Persisn government which-are branded by
eof'gc’s, as the index of a long cherished Bus-
to maturity under the lax British policy.
Nervous and high strung, Chilcote refuses a' cab and walks. In the
LAKELY, editor of. St. G
sian scheme,
dense fog he Jostlcs a stranger.
the company of
drug. Chilcote goes to the h
Khorasan.
pointed out.
your—your illness in the House;
and it seems to him”—again she
broke off, watching Loder’s averted
head—“it seems to him that if you
made one real effort now, even now.
to shake off your restlessness. that
your—your health might improve.
He thinks that the present crisis
would . be"—she hesitated—“would
give you a tremendous opportunity.
Your trade interests. bound up as
they are with Persia, would give
any opinion you might hold a double
weight." Almost unconsciously a
touch of warmth crept into her
words.
“Mr. Fralde talked very seriously
about the beginning of your career.
He said that if only the spirit of
your first days could come back—"
Her tone grew quicker, as though
she feared ridicule in Loder's silence.
"He asked me to use myinfiuence.
I know that I have little—none, per-
haps—but I couldn't tell him that,
and so—so I promised.”
"And have kept the promise?"
Loder spoke at random. Her man-
ner and her words had both affected
him. There was a sensation of un-
reality in his brain.
“Yes." she answered.
want to do—what I can."
As she spoke a sudden realization
of the efiorts she was making struck
upon him. and with it his scorn of
Chilcote rose in renewed force.
“My intention—" he began, tum—
ing to her. Then the futility of any
declaration silenced him. “I shall
think over what you say.” he added.
after a minute's wait. “I supDOSc I
can't say more than that."
Their eyes met and she smiled a
little. .
“I ‘don't believe I expected .3
much." she said. “I think I'll go
now. Ion have been wonderfully
patient." Again she smiled slightly,
at the same time extending her hand.
The gesture was'quite friendly, but
in Loder's eyes it held relief as well
as friendliness: and when their
hands met he noticed that her fingers
barely brushed his.
He pickedup her cloak and car-
ried it across the room. As he held
the door open. he laid it quietly
across her arm. _
uI’ll think over what you‘ve said."
be repeated. '
Again the glanced at him as if
suspecting sarcsszu: then. partly re-
assured. she paused. “You will al-
ways despise your opportunities. and
I suppose I shall always envy them."
she said. “That's the way with men
and women. Good-night!” Withan.
other faintsaifleshepassedeutinto
“I always
was (immerses IN THE STORY;
hillssam..ml‘s‘ It.“ '5‘
“So I found the maid and found the dog.”
cl: Brunt-teams: 'cacn. THuRSToN" V‘
" lis‘ses'icl form hyars‘unfimcnt with Richard Walton
admired from John Huntcrbooths dramatization.
q
is the first man
Striking a match to light his cigar-
ette, Chilcote is startled to see that the other man is his exact counter-
part. They exchange cards, the stranger's revealing him to be
JOHN LODER. His nerves shattered by drugs. Chilcote seeks solace in
LADY ASTRUPP. then goes to Parliament, where he finds himself un-
equal to his duties, despite the urgings of
FRAIDE, his party leader. Rea 'sing he has become a hopeless slave to
ble apartment of Loder and proposes
they exchange places in the world and Loder, after reserving decision
a day, agrees. They plan the deception, Loder to be given three
weeks in which to learn Chllcote’s handwriting, to familiarize himself
with Chilcote’s ways and acquaintances and to hide a bad scar on his
finger with rings. Loder. in Chilcote’s clothes, goes to Chilcote’s home,
is unsuspected by the maid and the new secretary
GREENING, who. however, is astonished at his master’s compliment of
the work he had been doing in making notes on the political position of
“You rather pooh-poohed the matter this morning,” he
. ~.
-~-.". '
"like s nus—t-
CHAPTER IX.
LODER slept soundly and dream-
lessly in Chilcote's canopied
bed. To him the big room with its
severe mugniflcence suggested noth-
ing of the gloom and solitude that
it held in its owner’s eyes. The
ponderous furniture, the high cell-
ing, the heavy. curtains, unchanged
since the days of Chilcote’s grand-
father, all hinted at a far-reaching
ownership that stirred him. The
ownership was mythical in his re-
gard, and the possessions a mirage.
but they filled the day. And. surely,
sufficient for the day-—
That was his frame of mind as he
opened his eyes on the following
morning, and lay appreciative of his
comfort. of the surrounding space.
even of the light that filtered
through the curtain chinks. sugges-
tive of a world recreated. With day,
all things seem possible to a healthy
man. He stretched his arms luxuri-
ously. delighting in the glossy
smoothness of the sheets.
What was it Chilcote had said?
Better live for a day than‘cxist for
a lifetime! That was true; and life
had begun. At thirty~six he was to
know it for the first time.
He smiled, but without irony. Man
is at his best at thirtyslx. he mused.
He has retained his enthusiasms and
shed his exuberances; he has learned
what to pick up and what to pass
DY: he no longer imagines that to
drain a cup one must taste the dregs.
He closed his eyes and stretched
again, not his arms only, but his
whole body. The pleasure of his
mental state insisted on a physical
expression. Then, sitting up in bed.
be pressed the electric bell.
Chilcote’s new valet responded.
“Pull those curtains, Renwlck i" he
said. "What’s the time?” He had
passed the ordeal of Renwick’s eyes
the night-before.
The man was slow. even a‘llttle
stupid. He draw back the curtains
carefully. then looked at the small
clock on the dressing-table. “Eight
o'clock. sir. I didn't expect th- be“
so early, sir.“ ‘
Loder felt "DMJM a pause
followed. _ . '
“May I bring in your cup of ted.
sir?“ -
"No. Not just yet. I'll have a
bath first."- A~
Renwick showed ponder-m uncer-
tainty. "Warm, all“?! he bearded
“No. Gold.” , . ‘ . 7
Still perplexed. the man “finflie
room. . , , L .
rLoder smiled be “‘th
chances of discovery M mm
were not large. ,Ee W *0
think that Chilean bade"! ever-
stepped necemity lawman} of .
I t B > D
r u.
. '\ ,.
.1 y
63%:
Loder nodded to him. "Early at
work?” he said. pleasantly.
The little man showed instant, al-
most ridiculous relief. “Good-morn~
ing. sir," he said. “you too are early.
I rather feared your nerves troubled
you after I left last night, for I found
your letters still unopened this
morning. But I am glad to us you
look so well."
Loder promptly turned his back to
the light. “on. last night's letters 1"
he said. “To tell you the truth.
Greening. my wlfdi—his hesitation
was very slight—“my wife looked
me up after you left, and we gossip-
ed. I clean forgot the post." He
smiled in an explanatory way as he
moved to the desk and picked up
the letters.
With Greening's eyes upon him.
there was no time for scruples. With
every creditable coolness he began
opening the envelopes one by one.
The letters were unimportant, and
he passed them one after another to
the secretary. experiencing a slight
thrill of authority as each left his
hand. Again the fact that power is
visible in little things came to his
mind.
“Give me my engagement-book.
Greening,” he said. when the letters
had been disposed of.
The book that Greening handed
him was nest in shape and bound.
like Chilcotc’s cigarettecase, in
lizard-skin.
As Loder took it. the gold mono-
gram “J. C.” winked at him in the
bright morning light. The “eldest
moved his sense of humor. He and
the book were co-operators in the
fraud. it seemed. He felt an incli-
nation to wink back. Nevertheless.
he opened it with proper gravity and
skimmed the pages.
The page devoted to the day was
almost full. On every other line
were jottings in Chilcote’s irregular
hand, and twice among the entries
appeared a prominent cross in blue
pencilling. Loder‘s interest quick-
ened as his eye caught the mark. It
had been agreed between them that
only engagements essential to Chil-
cote's public life need be carried
through during his absence. and
these, to save confusion. were tobe
crossed in blue pencil. The rest, for
the most part social claims, were to
be left to circumstance and Loder‘s
inclination, Ohilcote’s erratic mem-
ory always accounting for the break-
ing of trivial promises.
But Loder in his new energy was
anxious for obligations: the desire
for fresh and greater tests grew with
indulgence. He scanned the two
lines with eagerness. The first was
an interview with Gresham. one of
Chilcote's supporters in Wark; the
other an engagement to lunch with
Fraide. At the idea of the former
his interest quickened, but at thought
of the latter it quailed momentarily.
Had the entry been a royal com-
mand it would have affected him in-
finitely less. For a space his as—
surance falter-ed: then, by coinci-
dence. the recollection of Eve and
Eve's words of last night came
back to him. and his mind was filled
with a new sensation.
Because of Chilcote. he was 'de-
spised by Chiicote‘s wife! There was
no denying that in all the pleasant
excitement of the adventure that
knowledge had rankled. It came to
him now linked with remembrance
of the slight, reluctant touch of her
fingers. the faintly evasive dislike
underlying her glance. It was a
trivial thing. but it touched his pride
as a man. That was how he put it
to himself. It wasn‘t that he val-
ued this woman's . opinion—any
woman's opinion: it was merely that
it touched his pride. He turned
again to the window and gazed out,
the engagement-book still between
his hands. What if he compelled her
respect? What if by his on‘ per-
sonality , cloaked under Ohilcote's
identity he forced her to admit his
capability 1 It was a matter of
pride. after all—scarcely even of
pride; self-respect was a better
word. . - .
Satisfied by his own reasoning. he
turned back into the room. .
“See to those letters. Greening.”
he said. “And for the rest of the
mornings work you might go on with
your Khoman notes. I believe we'll
want every inch a knowledge we
can get in that quarter before we're
much older. I’ll see you again later.”
With a reassuring nod he crossed the
room and passed through the door.
He lunched with Fraide at his,
club. and afterwards walked with
him to Westminster. The walk and
lunch were both memorable. In that
hour he learned many things that
had been scaled to him before. He
tasted his first draughtfiof seal ela-
.uomhisfirstdropofreaidiscom-
fiture. He saw for the first time
how a great man may condescend—
how unostentatiously. bow'fnily. how
delightfully. He felt whutact and
kindness perfectly combinedmay ac-.
he mum-w:
less. with no peanut
yet he. walked
15*
before settling down?! He took Lod-
er'sarmanddrewhimforward. As
they passed through the doorway
the pressure of his fingers tightened.
“I' shall reckon today among my
pleasantest memories, Ohilcote.” he
said, gravely. “I can't explain the
feeling. but Iseem to, have touched
Eve's husband—the ,real you. more
closely this morning than I ever did
before. It has been a' genuine happi-
ness." He looked up with the eyes
that. through all his years of action
and responsibility, had remained so
bright.
But Loder poled suddenly, and his
glance turned to the river—wide.
mysterious. secret. Unconsciously
Fraide had stripped the illusion. It
was not John Loder who walked
here; it was Chllcote—Chilcote with
his position, his constituency—his
wife. He half extricated his arm.
but Fraide held it.
“No,” he said. “Don't 'draw away
from me. You have always been
too ready to do that. It is not often
I have a pleasant truth to tell. I
won't be deprived of the enjoyment.”
“Can the truth ever be pleasant.
sir?" Involuntarlly Loder echoed
Chllcote. ,
Fraide looked up. He was half a
head shorter than his companion.
though his dignity concealed the
fact. “Chilcote.” he said. seriously.
“give up cynicism! It is the trade-
mark of failure. and I do not like it
in my—friends.
Loder said nothing. The quiet in-
sight of the reproof. its mitigating
kindness, touched him sharply In
that moment he saw the rails down
which he had sent his little car of
existence spinning. and the sight
daunted him. The track was steeper,
the gauge narrower, than he had
guessed: there were curves and aid
lugs upon which he had not reck-
oned. He turned his head and met
Fraide‘s glance.
“Don’t count too much on me. sir.”
he said. slowly. “I might disappoint
you again." His voice broke off on
the last word. for the sound of other
voices and of laughter came to them
across the Terrace as a group of
two women and.three men passed
through the open door. At a glance
he realized that the slighter of the
two .women was Eve.
Seeing them. she disengaged her-
self fmm her party and came quickly
forward. He saw her cheeks flush
and her eyes brighten pleasantLv
as they rested on his companion: but
he noticed also that after her first
cursory glance she aveided his own
direction.
As she came towards them.
Fralde drew away his hand in readi-
ness to greet her.
“Here comes my godchild!” he
said. “I often wish, Chileote, that
I could do away with the prefix.” He
added the last words in an under-
tone as he reached them; than he
responded warmly to her smile.
“What!" he said. “Turning the
Terrace into 'the Garden of Eden in
January! We cannot allow this."
Eve laughed. “Blame Lady
Sarah l" she said. “We met at
lunch. and she carried me 01!. Need-
less to say I hadn’t to ask where."
They both laughed. and Loder
Joined. a little uncertainly. He had
yet to learn that the devotion of
Fraide and his wife was a long-
standing jest in their particular set.
At the sound of his tardy laugh
Eve turned to him. “I hope I didn't
rob you of all sleep last night." she
said. "I caught him in his den." she
explained. turning to Fraide, “and
invaded it most courageously. I be-
lieve we talked till twot"
Again Loder noticed how quickly
she lodked from him to Fraide. The
knowledge roused his self-assertion.
“I had an excellent night.” he
said. “Do I lok as if I hadn't slept?”
Somewhat slowly and reluctantly
Eve looked back. “No,” she said,
truthfully. and with a faint surprise
thattto Loder seemed the first genu-
ine emotion she had shown regard-
ing him. “No. I don’t think I ever
saw you look so well." She was quite
unconscious and very charming as
she made the admission. It struck
Loder that her colonlng of hair and
eyes gained by daylight—were
brightened and vivlfied “by their set»
ting of sombre river and sombre
stone. .
Fraide smiled at her affection-
ately; then looked at Loder. “Chil-
cote has got a new lease of nerves.
live." he said. quietly. “And I—-—
believe—I have got a new henchmen.
But I see my wife beckoning to me.
I must have a word with her before
she fiits away. May I be excused?"
He madoa courteous gesture of apol-
out then smiled at live. -
She losked’after him.“ he moved
away. “Isometimes wonder what
I shouldde if anymmgivm'e to hap‘
pen to the Fraides." she said. a little
wistfully. Then almostjat ones she
laughed. as if regretting her impul-
siveness. ‘fl'onhear what he said."
,1!!!“ ’chsnxe' e! tandem} Leda
funaccountably. ‘ “Will you always
.
fa‘Whou‘mnW‘s
Post is now appearing i .
'Atlasfshelookedupafflnf..:
slowly.
“Have you ever given
believe?" she asked. in a
though the subdued
nettled him afresh.
me cause”
quiet voice. ‘
To this truth he found no answer.
incredulity
Prompted to a further scarf. ltd
.sheweuteminadiiferentvoiee.‘
G “Am I reanygteconuatulate your!
genes monsoon “manuals
spoke again. “Patience is necessary
with every person and every dog
cumstance.” he said. I'We've all got
to wait and see.’‘
She did not lower her gene as lie
spoke: and there seemed to him
something disconcerting in the clear,
candid blue of her eyes. “nth a and-
den dread of her next words, he
moved forward and laid his hand
beside hers on the parapet.
“Patience is needed for every,
one," be repeated, quickly. "Some-
times a man is like a bit of wreck.
age: he drifts fill
stronger’thau himself gets in his
way and stops him.“ He looked -
again at her face. He scarcely knew .
what he was saying: he only felt
that he was a man in an egregioualy
false position. trying stupidly to
justify himself. “Don't you believe
that fiotsam can sometimes be wash-
ed ashore?" he asked.
High above them Big Ben chimed
the hour.
Eve raised her head. It almost
seemed to him that he could see her
answer trembling on her lips; then
the voice of Lady Sarah Fralde came
cheerfully from behind them.
“Eve 1" she called. “Eve! We
must fly. It’s absolutely three
o'clock!" ‘“ * '
, ‘1’
cultures at. ‘_
‘(pn
[N the 'days that followed Fraide’d
marked adoption of him Loder
behaved with a discretion that spoke
well for his qualities. Many a man
placed in the same responsible. and
yet strangely irresponsible, position
might have been excused if. for the
time at least, he gave himself a loose ,
rein. But Loder kept free of the:
temptation.
Like all other experiments. his
showed unlocked-for features when
put to a working test. Its expected
difficulties smoothed themselves
away, while others, scarcely, anticlo
pated, came into prominence. Most
notable of all. the physical likeness
between himself and Chilcote. the
bedrock of the whole scheme, which
had been counted upon to offer most
danger, worked without a hitch. He
stood literally amazed before the
sweeping, credulity that met him on
every hand. Men who had known
Chilcote from his youth. servants
who had been in his employment for
years. Joined issue in the unques—
tioning aceptance. At times the ease .
of the deception bewildered him; i
there were moments when be real- ,
ised that, should circumstances force
him to a declaration of the truth. he
would not be believed. Human na-
ture prefers its own eyesight to the
testimony of any man.
.' Q
N
1
some force ‘V’
C“
«3
I;
But in face of this ”tarnishing?
success he steered a steady cons-sew?
In the first uhilaretion of Fraide‘s‘
favor. in the first egotistical wish to.
break down Eve's scepticism. he!
might possibly have plunged into that
vortex of action, let it be in what'
direction it might: but fortunately‘
for himself. for Chilcote, and for;
their scheme. he was liable to strenu- ‘=
one second thoughts—those wise and
necessary curbs that go further to
§ .
b
h .
i
L
I
the steadying of the universe» than}
the universe guesses. Sitting in the ‘
quiet of the House. on the same day -
that he had spoken with Eve on the
Terrace, he had weighed, possibila‘-
ities slowly and cautiously. Im-
i
pressed to the full by the atmos- ‘_
phere of the place that in his eyes \~
could never lack character, however a ‘
duu its momentary business. how-.
ever prosy the voice that filled it.‘
he had sifted impulse from expedlc a
once. as only a man who has lived
within himself can sift and distin-
guish. And atthe closeofthat first
day his program had been formed|
There must be no rush. no headlong
plunge, he had decided: things must
work round. It was his first expedi-
tion into the new country. and it lay
with fate to say whether it would
be his last. '
He had been leaning back in his ‘
C
I
seat, his eyes on the ministers op-r.
posite, his arms folded in imitation'.
of Chilcotc’s most natural attitude. ':
when this final speculation had come ‘
tohim:amlasitcsmehislipshadz
tightened fora moment and his face;
become hard and cold. Itisan'un-i
pleasantthlagwhenamanfirstun-~
consciously reckons on the weakness’
of another.“ and the look that ex-'
pressestheideaisnotgcodtesee.
He had stirred uneasily; then his
“v.
nonwouidbeglntheroutinaofthe,
m
Norwalk Chronicler