her of no evil intention. She is far too
prudent to ever repeat her one mistake of falling in love with anyone
but herself. You may fall in love with her; she expects you to do that.
But you need expect no act of imprudence from her. She will lead you to
the very gates of love and close them gently in your face."

The boy went away furiously angry with Denis, but in the months to come
he recognised that he had heard Sylvia Custance accurately analysed
during that unpleasant half-hour's walk with Denis Quirk.

Denis watched the boy as he strode away towards his home, his figure
stiffly borne, the picture of indignant protest. For his own part,
Denis desired no further acquaintance with Sylvia Custance. He despised
her so much that the very thought of her was repulsive to his nature.
After that one visit he preferred to cultivate old Jackson in his office
in the city.

Occasionally he made a flying visit to Grey Town to enjoy the
restfulness of "Layton," but he did not stay long even there. After a
week or ten days he would suddenly pack his Gladstone bag and return in
haste to Melbourne. His answer to his mother was always the same, when
she pleaded with him to stay a few days longer:

"I must get back to work. There is nothing else worth living for."

Denis Quirk was busy in his office, writing, revising, correcting
proofs, reading a celebrated work for review, criticising illustrations,
doing many things and several men's work at the one time. He had a
sub-editor, a very capable journalist, but he had the feeling, like
other great men, that no one could do his work but he, and in this he
was partly right. The telephone rang while he was thus engaged, and he
sprang up and seized the receiver. Grey Town was speaking.

"Yes, Grey Town speaking. It is Kathleen O'Connor. Can you hear me?"

"Distinctly," he answered.

"Mrs. Quirk is seriously ill. She wants you."

"I will be with you in seven hours. Will she last till then?"

"Dr. Marsh thinks so; but please waste no time. Good-bye."

He rang his bell, and the office messenger answered it with promptitude.
He had learned the lesson of haste when the master's bell rang.

"Send Mr. Gillon to me, and order a motor to take me to Grey Town at
once. Ring up my flat, and ask my man to pack my valise," cried Denis.
"Tell the motor to call for it," he added.

To the sub-editor he confided the work that still remained to be done.

"I will take this with me," he said, pi