ollowed him. "Why," he said excitedly, "don't
you see that it's a fraudulent exchange? It's a fraudulent exchange that
it offers, and it itself is an exchange as fraudulent as that which our
modern world is making. No, not our modern world only. We talk so big of
our modernity, when it's all less than the dust--this year's leaves, no
better than last year's, and fallen to-morrow. Rome offered the same
exchange, and even a better one, I think--the blood and lust and conflict
of the amphitheatre. But they're both exchanges, offered instead of the
great thing, the only great thing."

"Which is, Peter?"

"God, of course--Almighty God; Jesus, if you will, but I'm not in a mood
for the tenderness of that. It's God Himself Who offers tired and sad
people, and people sick of life, no anodyne, no mere rest, but stir and
fight and the thrill of things nobly done--nobly tried, Julie, even if
nobly failed. Can't you see it? And you and I to-night have been looking
at what the world offers--in exchange."

He ceased and dropped into a chair the other side of the fire. A silence
fell on them. Then Julie gave a little shiver. "Peter, dear," she said
tenderly, "I'm a little tired and cold."

He was up at once and bending over her. "My darling, what a beast I am!
I clean forgot you for a minute. What will you have? What about a hot
toddy? Shall I make one?" he demanded, smiling. "Donovan taught me how,
and I'm really rather good at it."

She smiled back at him, and put her hand up to smooth his hair. "That
would be another exchange, Peter," she said, "and I don't want it. Only
one thing can warm me to-night and give me rest."

He read what she meant in her eyes, and knelt beside the chair to put his
arms around her. She leaned her face on his shoulder, and returned the
kisses that he showered upon her. "Poor mayflies," she said to herself,
"how they love to dance in the sun!"

CHAPTER IX

Ever after that next day, the Saturday, will remain in Peter's memory as
a time by itself, of special significance, but a significance, except for
one incident, very hard to place. It began, indeed, very quietly, and
very happily. They breakfasted again in their own room, and Julie was
in one of her subdued moods, if one ever could say she was subdued.
Afterwards Peter lit a cigarette and strolled over to the window. "It's a
beastly day," he said, "cloudy, cold, windy, and going to rain, I think.
What shall we do? Snow up in the hotel a