, when she went over close to him again,
she saw that even this pause had allowed him time to think, and that his
face was once more overcome by melancholy, although he greeted her with
a smile.

Something further must be done.

"Henry," she said, cooingly, kneeling down beside him and taking his
hand, "will you promise me something, please. I am not clever like you,
but I do know one splendid recipe for taking away pain; every time the
thought of Sabine comes up to you and the old pictures you used to hold,
look them squarely in the face, and then deliberately replace them with
others that you can obtain--the strange law of periodicity will be in
motion and, if you have only will enough, gradually the pictures that
can be yours will unconsciously have taken the place of the old ones
which have caused you pain. Is it not much better to do that than just
to let yourself grieve--surely it is more like a man?"

Henry looked at her, a little startled. This idea had never presented
itself to him. Yes, it was certainly more like a man to try any measure
than "just to grieve," and what if there should be some truth in this
suggestion--? What did the "law of periodicity" mean? What an American
phrase! How apt they were at coining expressive sentences. He looked
into the glowing ashes--there he seemed to see in ruins the whole fabric
of his dreams--but if there was a law which brought thoughts back, and
back again at the same hour each day, then Moravia was right: he must
blot out the old pictures and conjure up new ones--but what could they
be--?

"You are musing, Henry," Moravia's voice went on. "Are you thinking over
what I said? I hope so, and you will find it is true. See, I will tell
you what to visualize there in the fire. You are looking at a splendid
English home, all peace and warmth, and you see yourself in it happy and
surrounded by friends. And you see yourself a great man, the center of
political interest, and everything coming toward you that heart can
desire. It is awfully wanting in common sense to think because you
cannot obtain one woman there are none others in the world."

"Awfully," agreed Henry--suddenly taking in the attractive picture she
made, seated there at his knees, her white hand holding his hand. His
thoughts wandered for a moment, as thought will do when the mind is
overstrained; they wandered to the speculation of why American women
should have such small and white hands, and then he brough