his morning, for an instant, I was afraid!"

"Try and keep your thoughts away from it," Mr. Waddington advised.
"Let me show you these new prints. By the bye, where is your wonderful
little boy?"

"Gone--back to his mother!" Burton answered grimly. "Didn't you hear us
mention him? I left him in my rooms one night and when I came back the
whole place was in disorder. He was in a filthy state and sobbing for
his home."

"My poor fellow!" Mr. Waddington murmured. "Come, I will take you with
me to lunch. We can spend the afternoon in my library. I have some new
treasures to show you. We will lose ourselves. For a short time, at
least, you shall forget."

CHAPTER XXVI

THE END OF A WONDERFUL WORLD

Mr. Waddington turned his head away quickly and glanced half guiltily
towards his companion. To his amazement, Burton had been gazing in the
same direction. Their eyes met. Burton coughed.

"A remarkably fine woman, that," Mr. Waddington declared.

Burton looked at him in astonishment.

"My dear Mr. Waddington!" he exclaimed. "You cannot really think so!"

They both turned their heads once more. The woman in question was
standing upon the doorstep of a milliner's shop, waiting for a taxicab.
In appearance she was certainly somewhat striking, but her hair was
flagrantly dyed, her eyebrows darkened, her costume daring, her type
obvious.

"A very fine woman indeed, I call her," Mr. Waddington repeated.
"Shouldn't mind taking her to lunch. Good mind to ask her."

Burton hesitated for a moment. Then a curious change came into his own
face.

"She is rather fetching," he admitted.

The woman suddenly smiled. Mr. Waddington pulled himself together.

"It serves us right," he said, a little severely, and hastening his
companion on. "I was looking at her only as a curiosity."

Burton glanced behind and move on reluctantly.

"I call her jolly good-looking," he declared.

Mr. Waddington pretended not to hear. They turned into Jermyn Street.

"There are some vases here, at this small shop round the corner, which I
want you particularly to notice, Burton," he continued. "They are
perfect models of old Etruscan ware. Did you ever see a more beautiful
curve? Isn't it a dream? One could look at a curve like that and it
has something the same effect upon one as a line of poetry or a single
exquisite thought."

Burton glanced into the window and looked back again over his shoulder.
The lady, however, had disappeared.