think it's the most wonderful tune in
the world." Her body swayed; her foot tapped.

George listened. Yes, it was a maddening tune.

"It is," he agreed eagerly.

She cried:

"Oh! I do love pleasure! And success! And money! Don't you?"

Her eyes had softened; they were liquid with yearning; but there was
something frankly sensual in them. This quality, swiftly revealed,
attracted George intensely for an instant.

Immediately afterwards she asked the time, and said she must go.

"I daren't keep Irene waiting," she said. Her eyes now had a hard
glitter.

In full Regent Street he put the haughty girl into Irene's automobile,
which had turned round; he was proud to be seen in the act; he privately
enjoyed the glances of common, unsuccessful persons. As he walked away
he smiled to himself, to hide from himself his own nervous excitement.
She was a handful, she was. Within her life burned and blazed. He
remembered Mr. Prince's remark: "You must have made a considerable
impression on her," or words to that effect. The startling thought
visited him: "I shall marry that woman." Then another thought: "Not if I
know it! I don't like her. I do not like her. I don't like her eyes."

She had, however, tremendously intensified in him the desire for
success. He hurried off to work. The days passed too slowly, and yet
they were too short for his task. He could not wait for the fullness of
time. His life had become a breathless race. "I shall win. I can't
possibly win. The thing's idiotic. I might.... Enwright's rather
struck." Yes, it was Mr. Enwright's attitude that inspired him. To have
impressed Mr. Enwright--by Jove, it was something!

CHAPTER IX

COMPETITION

I

On the face of the door on the third floor of the house in Russell
Square the words 'G.E. Cannon' appeared in dirty white paint and the
freshly added initials 'A.R.I.B.A.' in clean white paint. The addition
of the triumphant initials (indicating that George had kissed the rod of
the Royal Institute of British Architects in order to conquer) had put
the sign as a whole out of centre, throwing it considerably to the right
on the green door-face. Within the small and bare room, on an evening in
earliest spring in 1904, sat George at the customary large flat desk of
the architect. He had just switched on the electric light over his head.
He looked sterner and older; he looked very worried, fretful, exhausted.
He was thin and pale; his eyes burned, and t