was conscious
of one swift look into his eyes, and of the--fact that her fingers
rested in his several seconds longer than was necessary.

"We are profoundly mortified, both my niece and I," Mr. Foley said.
"Never have I had so many journalists on my doorstep, even on that
notorious Thursday when they thought that I was going to declare war. I
really fancy, Maraton, that they are going to make a celebrity of you.
Have you seen the papers?"

"I have read Selingman's sketch," Maraton replied.

"They say," Mr. Foley went on, "that he wrote all night at the office
in Fleet Street, and that his sheets were flung into type as he wrote
them. Selingman, too--the great Selingman! You know him?"

"He travelled down from Sheffield with me last night," Maraton answered.

"A more dangerous person even than you," Mr. Foley observed, "and an
Anglophobe. Never mind, what did we call about, Elisabeth?"

"Well, we were really on our way to the city," his niece reminded him.
"It was you who suggested, when we were at the top of the Square, that
we should call in and see Mr. Maraton."

"There was something in my mind," Mr. Foley persisted. "I remember.
Next Friday is the last day of the session, you know, Mr. Maraton. We
want you to go down to Scotland with us for a week."

Maraton shook his head.

"It is very kind of you," he said, "but I shall take no holiday. I need
none. I have endless work here during the vacation. There are some
industries I have scarcely looked into at all. And there is my Bill,
and the draft of another one to follow. Thank you very much, Mr.
Foley, all the same."

Elisabeth set down the illustrated paper which she had picked up. She
looked across at Maraton.

"Don't you think for one week, Mr. Maraton," she suggested softly,
"that you could bring your work with you. You could have a study in a
quiet corner of the house, and if you did not care to bring a
secretary, I would promise you the services of an amateur one."

Perhaps by accident, as she spoke, she glanced across at Julia, and
perhaps by accident Julia at that moment happened to glance up. Their
eyes met. Julia, from the grim loneliness of her own world, looked
steadfastly at this exquisite type of the things in life which she
hated.

"You are very kind," Maraton repeated, "but indeed I must not think of
it. It seems to me," he went on, after a slight hesitation, "that every
time lately when I have stood at the halting of two ways, and have