d con. On the one hand the Cardews, on
the other, Doyle and a revolutionary movement. A revolution would be
interesting and exciting, and there was strong in him the desire to pull
down. But revolution was troublesome. It was violent and bloody. Even if
it succeeded it would be years before the country would be stabilized.
This other, now--

He sat low in his chair, his long legs stretched out in his favorite
position, and dreamed. He would not play the fool like Doyle. He would
conciliate the family. In the end he would be put up at the clubs; he
might even play polo. His thoughts wandered to Pink Denslow at the polo
grounds, and he grinned.

"Young fool!" he reflected. "If I can't beat his time--" He ordered
dinner to be sent up, and mixed himself a cocktail, using the utmost
care in its preparation. Drinking it, he eyed himself complacently in
the small mirror over the mantel. Yes, life was not bad. It was damned
interesting. It was a game. No, it was a race where a man could so hedge
his bets that he stood to gain, whoever won.

When there was a knock at the door he did not turn. "Come in," he said.

But it was not the waiter. It was Edith Boyd. He saw her through the
mirror, and so addressed her.

"Hello, sweetie," he said. Then he turned. "You oughtn't to come here,
Edith. I've told you about that."

"I had to see you, Lou."

"Well, take a good look, then," he said. Her coming fitted in well with
the complacence of his mood. Yes, life was good, so long as it held
power, and drink, and women.

He stooped to kiss her, but although she accepted the caress, she did
not return it.

"Not mad at me, Miss Boyd, are you?"

"No. Lou, I'm frightened!"

CHAPTER XIV

On clear Sundays Anthony Cardew played golf all day. He kept his
religious observances for bad weather, but at such times as he attended
service he did it with the decorum and dignity of a Cardew, who bowed to
his God but to nothing else. He made the responses properly and with a
certain unction, and sat during the sermon with a vigilant eye on the
choir boys, who wriggled. Now and then, however, the eye wandered to
the great stained glass window which was a memorial to his wife. It said
beneath: "In memoriam, Lilian Lethbridge Cardew."

He thought there was too much yellow in John the Baptist. On the Sunday
afternoon following her ride into the city with Louis Akers, Lily found
herself alone. Anthony was golfing and Grace and Howard had mot