your full effect?"

Lennan touched the base of the clay.

"The broken curve here"--then, with sudden disgust at this fencing, was
silent. What had the man come for? He must want something. And, as if
answering, Cramier said:

"To pass to another subject--you see a good deal of my wife. I just
wanted to tell you that I don't very much care that you should. It is as
well to be quite frank, I think."

Lennan bowed.

"Is that not," he said, "perhaps rather a matter for HER decision?"

That heavy figure--those threatening eyes! The whole thing was like a
dream come true!

"I do not feel it so. I am not one of those who let things drift. Please
understand me. You come between us at your peril."

Lennan kept silence for a moment, then he said quietly:

"Can one come between two people who have ceased to have anything in
common?"

The veins in Cramier's forehead were swollen, his face and neck had
grown crimson. And Lennan thought with strange elation: Now he's going
to hit me! He could hardly keep his hands from shooting out and seizing
in advance that great strong neck. If he could strangle, and have done
with him!

But, quite suddenly, Cramier turned on his heel. "I have warned you," he
said, and went.

Lennan took a long breath. So! That was over, and he knew where he was.
If Cramier had struck out, he would surely have seized his neck and held
on till life was gone. Nothing should have shaken him off. In fancy he
could see himself swaying, writhing, reeling, battered about by those
heavy fists, but always with his hands on the thick neck, squeezing out
its life. He could feel, absolutely feel, the last reel and stagger
of that great bulk crashing down, dragging him with it, till it lay
upturned, still. He covered his eyes with his hands.... Thank God! The
fellow had not hit out!

He went to the door, opened it, and stood leaning against the door-post.
All was still and drowsy out there in that quiet backwater of a street.
Not a soul in sight! How still, for London! Only the birds. In a
neighbouring studio someone was playing Chopin. Queer! He had almost
forgotten there was such a thing as Chopin. A mazurka! Spinning like
some top thing, round and round--weird little tune!... Well, and what
now? Only one thing certain. Sooner give up life than give her up! Far
sooner! Love her, achieve her--or give up everything, and drown to that
tune going on and on, that little dancing dirge of summer!

XVI

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