Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1906-07-10

| XII
| There was siienee-an uneasy break
after Loder spoke. The episode of the tele-
| gram was. to all Appearances ordinary
| enough, calling forth Ewes question and
his own reply as a natural sequence; yet
| In the pause that followed 1t each was
| conscious Of jar. each was aware that In
some subtle way the thread OF sympathy
had been dropped. though to ono the cause
| was tnexplicable and to the other only too
| plain.
Loder watched the ghost OF his message
grow whittier and thinner. then dissolve into
airy fragments and futter up the chimney
As the last morsel wavered out OF sight.
| he turned and looked at his companion
| You almost made me commit myself.
he said In the desire to hide his feelings
| his tone was short
Eve returned his glance with a quiet re-
gard but he scarcely saw II. He had
! stupefied sense of disaster; a feeling OF
bitter decentralization that for the mo-
ment outweighed all other considerations,
Almost at the moment OF justification the
| good of life had crumbled in his fingers. the
| soil given beneath his feet and with an alb
sence OF logic. a lack OF justice unusual IN
him, he let resentment against Chilcote
sweep suddenly over his mind
Eve. still watching him. saw the darken-
Ing OF his expression and with a quie;
movement rose from her chair.
Lady Sarah has theater party tonight.
and am dining with her." she said. 1T is
an early dinner and I must think about
draw you into anything I must have ex-
plained myself badly" She laughed q lit
tie. to cover the slight discontinue that
ner tone betrayed. and as she laughed she,
moved across the room towards the door.
Loder, engrossed In the check to his own
schemes, incensed at the suddenness of
Chilcote's recall. and still more incensed
| at his own folly in not having anticipated
Y xxynS nlt txriD FA-
her movement and her words. Then, quite
abruptly, they obtruded themselves upon
MN. breaking through his egotism with
something Of the sharpness of pain follow
Ing blow. Turning quickly from the fire
place. he faced the shadowy room across
|. which she had passed. but simultaneously
with his turning she gained the door.
The knowledge that she was gone struck
him with a sense OF double loss. Waltz
he called, suddenly moving forward. But
almost at once he paused, chilled by the
solitude OF the room.
"Eve!" he said. using her name uncon-
sciously for the first time
But the corridor. as well as the room,
was empty; he was too late. He stood ir-
resolute; then he laughed shortly, turned
and passed back towards the fireplace
The blow had fallen, the Inevitable come
II pass. and nothing remained but to take
the fact with as good grace possible.
Chilcote's telegram had summoned him to
Clihord's Inn at seven o'clock and ii was
his watch-Chilcote's watch he real
lied. with a touch of grim humor
as he stopped to examine the dial by the
light of the fire; then, as IL the humor had
verged to another feeling he stood straight
again and felt for the electric button In
the. wall His fingers touched it and ST.
multaneously the room was lighted.
The abrupt alteration from shadow to
light came almost a shock. The fem
mime arrangement OF the tea table seemed
homogeneous beside the sober books and
the desk laden with papers--incongruous as
his own presence in the place. The thought
was unpleasant, and he turned aside as If
to avoid 1t; but at that movement his eyes
fell on Chilcote's cigarette box with its
cleaning monogram. and the whimsical
suggestion OF his first morning rose again
The idea that the inanimate objects in the
room knew him for what he was-recog-
nfzed the interloper where human eyes saw
the rightful possessor-returned to his mind
Through all his disgust and chagrin smile
forced itself to his lips. and, crossing the
room for the second time he passed Into
Chilcote's bed room
There the massive furniture and somber
atmosphere fitted better with his mood than
the energy and action which the study al
ways suggested Walking directly to the
great bed he sat on its side and for several
minutes stared straight in front of him, ap-
parently seeing nothing: then at last the
apathy passed from him, his previous
anger against Chilcote had passed. He
stood up slowly, drawing his long limbs
along the corridor and through the door
communicating with the rest of the house
Five minutes later he was in the open
air and walking steadily eastward, his hat
drawn forward and his overcoat buttoned
up.
AS he traversed the streets he allowed
himself thought. Once, as he waited
in Trafalgar square to find a passage be-
tween the vehicles the remembrance of
Chilcote's voice coming out of the fog on
their first night made itself prominent. but
he rejected 1t quickly, guarding himself
place of their meeting. The Strand, with
thing almost unfamiliar. Since his identi-
f1cation with the new life no business had
drawn him east Of Charing Cross. and his
first sight of the narrower stream of trafno
struck him garish and unpleasant. As
the impression came he accelerated his
steps, moved by the wish to make regret
and retrospection alike impossible by a con-
tact with actual forces.
Still walking --astily, he entered Clifford's
Inn, but there almost unconscously his
feet halted. There was something in the
quiet immutability of the place that So
bered energy, both mental and physical. A
sense Of changeiessness-the changeless-
ness of inanimate things, that rises in such
solemn contrast to the variabieness OF mere
human nature. which a new environment, a
new outlook, sometimes even a new pres
enee, has power to upheaye and remould
He paused; then with slower and steadier
steps crossed the little court and mounted
the familiar stairs Of his own house.