e quite near--in Bloomsbury Square. The carriage is
waiting. Frank, you can come?'

'I can come for an hour,' said Mr. Ispenlove.

I wanted very much to decline, but I could not. I could not disappoint
that honest and generous kindliness, with its touch of melancholy. I
could not refuse those shining gray eyes. I saw that my situation and my
youth had lacerated Mrs. Ispenlove's sensitive heart, and that she wished
to give it balm by being humane to me.

We seemed, so rapid was our passage, to be whisked on an Arabian carpet
to a spacious drawing-room, richly furnished, with thick rugs and ample
cushions and countless knicknacks and photographs and delicately-tinted
lampshades. There was a grand piano by Steinway, and on it Mendelssohn's
'Songs without Words.' The fire slumbered in a curious grate that
projected several feet into the room--such a contrivance I had never seen
before. Near it sat Mrs. Ispenlove, entrenched behind a vast copper disc
on a low wicker stand, pouring out tea. Mr. Ispenlove hovered about. He
and his wife called each other 'dearest.' 'Ring the bell for me,
dearest.' 'Yes, dearest.' I felt sure that they had no children. They
were very intimate, very kind, and always gently sad. The atmosphere was
charmingly domestic, even cosy, despite the size of the room--a most
pleasing contrast to the offices which we had just left. Mrs. Ispenlove
told her husband to look after me well, and he devoted himself to me.

'Do you know,' said Mrs. Ispenlove, 'I am gradually recalling the details
of your book, and you are not at all the sort of person that I should
have expected to see.'

'But that poor little book isn't _me_,' I answered. 'I shall never write
another like it. I only--'

'Shall you not?' Mr. Ispenlove interjected. 'I hope you will, though.'

I smiled.

'I only did it to see what I could do. I am going to begin something
quite different.'

'It appears to me,' said Mrs. Ispenlove--'and I must again ask you to
excuse my freedom, but I feel as if I had known you a long time--it
appears to me that what you want immediately is a complete rest.'

'Why do you say that?' I demanded.

'You do not look well. You look exhausted and worn out.'

I blushed as she gazed at me. Could she--? No. Those simple gray eyes
could not imagine evil. Nevertheless, I saw too plainly how foolish I had
been. I, with my secret fear, that was becoming less a fear than a
dreadful certainty, to permit myself to venture