hed hour of luxurious sleep, before stirring back to life
and hunger, the coming of the dinner hour and the jollity of a
well-chosen house-party.

That was the call which was competing with that other trumpet-call, and
Yeovil knew on which side his choice would incline.

CHAPTER XIV: "A PERFECTLY GLORIOUS AFTERNOON"

It was one of the last days of July, cooled and freshened by a touch of
rain and dropping back again to a languorous warmth. London looked at
its summer best, rain-washed and sun-lit, with the maximum of coming and
going in its more fashionable streets.

Cicely Yeovil sat in a screened alcove of the Anchorage Restaurant, a
feeding-ground which had lately sprung into favour. Opposite her sat
Ronnie, confronting the ruins of what had been a dish of prawns in aspic.
Cool and clean and fresh-coloured, he was good to look on in the eyes of
his companion, and yet, perhaps, there was a ruffle in her soul that
called for some answering disturbance on the part of that superbly
tranquil young man, and certainly called in vain. Cicely had set up for
herself a fetish of onyx with eyes of jade, and doubtless hungered at
times with an unreasonable but perfectly natural hunger for something of
flesh and blood. It was the religion of her life to know exactly what
she wanted and to see that she got it, but there was no possible
guarantee against her occasionally experiencing a desire for something
else. It is the golden rule of all religions that no one should really
live up to their precepts; when a man observes the principles of his
religion too exactly he is in immediate danger of founding a new sect.

"To-day is going to be your day of triumph," said Cicely to the young
man, who was wondering at the moment whether he would care to embark on
an artichoke; "I believe I'm more nervous than you are," she added, "and
yet I rather hate the idea of you scoring a great success."

"Why?" asked Ronnie, diverting his mind for a moment from the artichoke
question and its ramifications of sauce hollandaise or vinaigre.

"I like you as you are," said Cicely, "just a nice-looking boy to flatter
and spoil and pretend to be fond of. You've got a charming young body
and you've no soul, and that's such a fascinating combination. If you
had a soul you would either dislike or worship me, and I'd much rather
have things as they are. And now you are going to go a step beyond that,
and other people will applaud you and sa