d, I believe that I was actually
respected for a time. I was as grave as an owl over it; I had to be
loyal to the man. I have been, from first to last, completely, utterly
loyal to the best of my ability. I thought he understood something about
coal. And if I had been aware that he knew nothing of it, as in fact he
didn't, well--I don't know what I could have done to stop him. In one
way or another I should have had to be loyal. Truth, work, ambition,
love itself, may be only counters in the lamentable or despicable game
of life, but when one takes a hand one must play the game. No, the shade
of Morrison needn't haunt me. What's the matter? I say, Lena, why are
you staring like that? Do you feel ill?"

Heyst made as if to get on his feet. The girl extended her arm to arrest
him, and he remained staring in a sitting posture, propped on one arm,
observing her indefinable expression of anxiety, as if she were unable
to draw breath.

"What has come to you?" he insisted, feeling strangely unwilling to
move, to touch her.

"Nothing!" She swallowed painfully. "Of course it can't be. What name
did you say? I didn't hear it properly."

"Name?" repeated Heyst dazedly. "I only mentioned Morrison. It's the
name of that man of whom I've been speaking. What of it?"

"And you mean to say that he was your friend?"

"You have heard enough to judge for yourself. You know as much of our
connection as I know myself. The people in this part of the world
went by appearances, and called us friends, as far as I can remember.
Appearances--what more, what better can you ask for? In fact you can't
have better. You can't have anything else."

"You are trying to confuse me with your talk," she cried. "You can't
make fun of this."

"Can't? Well, no I can't. It's a pity. Perhaps it would have been the
best way," said Heyst, in a tone which for him could be called gloomy.
"Unless one could forget the silly business altogether." His faint
playfulness of manner and speech returned, like a habit one has schooled
oneself into, even before his forehead had cleared completely. "But why
are you looking so hard at me? Oh, I don't object, and I shall try not
to flinch. Your eyes--"

He was looking straight into them, and as a matter of fact had forgotten
all about the late Morrison at that moment.

"No," he exclaimed suddenly. "What an impenetrable girl you are Lena,
with those grey eyes of yours! Windows of the soul, as some poet has
said. The fe