of impotence seized Ronald, in nightmare grip. Indignant and
furious, he yet felt absolutely unable to contradict or to explain.

Suddenly he seemed to hear Helen's voice saying earnestly: "My cousin
Aubrey is not a good man, Ronnie; he is not a man you should trust."

This vivid remembrance of Helen, brought him to his senses.

"I prefer not to discuss my wife," he said, with quiet dignity; "nor my
relations with her. Let us talk of something else."

"By all means, my dear fellow," replied Aubrey. "You must pardon the
indiscretion of cousinly interest. Tell me of your new book. Have you
settled upon a title?"

But the instinct of authorship now shielded Ronnie.

"I never talk of my books, excepting to Helen, until they are finished,"
he said.

"Quite right," agreed Aubrey, cordially. "But you might tell me why this
one took you to Central Africa. Is it a book of travels?"

"No; it is a love-story. But the scene is laid in wild places--ah, such
places! One cannot possibly understand, until one gets there and does
it, what it is like to leave civilisation behind, and crawl into long
grass thirteen feet high!"

"It sounds weirdly fascinating," remarked Aubrey. "So unusual a setting,
must mean a remarkable plot."

"It is the strongest thing I have done yet," said Ronnie, with
enthusiasm.

Aubrey smiled, surveying Ronnie's eager face with slow enjoyment. He was
mentally recalling phrases from reviews he had written for various
literary columns, on Ronnie's work. Already he began wording the terse
sentences in which he would point out the feebleness and lack of
literary merit, in "the strongest thing" Ronnie had done yet. It might
be well to know something more about it.

"It will be very unlike your other books," he suggested.

"Yes," explained Ronnie, expanding. "You see they were all absolutely
English; just of our own set, and our own surroundings. I wanted
something new. I couldn't go on letting my hero make love in an English
garden."

"If you wanted a variety," suggested Aubrey Treherne, "you might have
let him make love in another man's garden. Stolen fruits are sweet!
There is always a fascination about trespassing."

"No, thank you," said Ronnie. "That would be Paradise Lost."

"Or Paradise Regained," murmured Aubrey.

"I think not. Besides--Helen reads my books."

"Oh, I see," sneered Aubrey. "So your wife draws the line?"

"I don't know what you mean," replied Ronnie. "Falsehood, frailty,