that it is neither one thing nor the other. One
must have one thing or the other."

"And some people are lucky enough to have both. You're doing yourself
proud, Mr. Wilcox. My congratulations."

"And mine," said Helen.

"Do remind Evie to come and see us--2 Wickham Place. We shan't be there
very long, either."

"You, too, on the move?"

"Next September," Margaret sighed.

"Every one moving! Good-bye."

The tide had begun to ebb. Margaret leant over the parapet and watched
it sadly. Mr. Wilcox had forgotten his wife, Helen her lover; she
herself was probably forgetting. Every one moving. Is it worth while
attempting the past when there is this continual flux even in the hearts
of men?

Helen roused her by saying: "What a prosperous vulgarian Mr. Wilcox has
grown! I have very little use for him in these days. However, he did
tell us about the Porphyrion. Let us write to Mr. Bast as soon as ever
we get home, and tell him to clear out of it at once."

"Do; yes, that's worth doing. Let us."

CHAPTER XVI

Leonard accepted the invitation to tea next Saturday. But he was right;
the visit proved a conspicuous failure.

"Sugar?" said Margaret.

"Cake?" said Helen. "The big cake or the little deadlies? I'm afraid
you thought my letter rather odd, but we'll explain--we aren't odd,
really--nor affected, really. We're over-expressive--that's all."

As a lady's lap-dog Leonard did not excel. He was not an Italian,
still less a Frenchman, in whose blood there runs the very spirit of
persiflage and of gracious repartee. His wit was the Cockney's; it
opened no doors into imagination, and Helen was drawn up short by "The
more a lady has to say, the better," administered waggishly.

"Oh yes," she said.

"Ladies brighten--"

"Yes, I know. The darlings are regular sunbeams. Let me give you a
plate."

"How do you like your work?" interposed Margaret.

He, too, was drawn up short. He would not have these women prying into
his work. They were Romance, and so was the room to which he had at last
penetrated, with the queer sketches of people bathing upon its walls,
and so were the very tea-cups, with their delicate borders of wild
strawberries. But he would not let romance interfere with his life.
There is the devil to pay then.

"Oh, well enough," he answered.

"Your company is the Porphyrion, isn't it?"

"Yes, that's so."--becoming rather offended. "It's funny how things get
round."

"Why funny?" asked Helen