bored a minute of the day!" And it seemed to
him, as he thought of Barclay, that his own life held nothing for him
but boredom from this time on.

CHAPTER VII

IN WHICH KEMPER IS PUZZLED

Late in October Kemper went South for a couple of weeks shooting; and It
was not until the first day of November that he parted from his
companions of the trip and returned to New York. He had enjoyed every
minute of his absence--until the last few days when the strangeness
appeared, somehow, to have worn from his out-door life--and as he drove
now, on the bright autumn afternoon, from the station to his rooms, he
was agreeably aware that he had never felt physically or mentally in
better shape. After a fortnight spent away from civilisation, he found a
refreshing excitement in watching the crowd in Fifth Avenue, the passing
carriages, and particularly the well-dressed figures of the women in
their winter furs. Taken all in all life was a pretty interesting
business, he admitted; and he remembered with eagerness that he would
see Laura again before the day was over. Though he had barely thought of
her once during the past two weeks, this very forgetfulness served to
surround her with the charm of novelty in his awakened memory.

A woman in a sable coat rolled past him in an automobile; and his eyes
followed her with an admiration which seemed strangely mixed with a
vague longing in his blood--a longing which was in some way produced by
the animated street, the changing November brightness and the crispness
of frost which was in the air. Then he caught sight of a milliner's
pretty assistant carrying a hat box along the sidewalk, and his gaze
hung with pleasure upon her trim and graceful figure in a cheap cloth
coat bordered with imitation ermine. A feeling of benevolence, of
universal good will pervaded his heart; his chest expanded in a sigh of
thankfulness, and it seemed to him that he asked nothing better than to
be alive. He was in the mood when a man is grateful to God, charitable
to himself and generous to his creditors.

The cab stopped before his door, and while he paid the man, he gave
careful directions to Wilkins about the removal of his shooting traps.
Then he entered the apartment house, and passing the elevator with his
rapid step, went gayly humming up the staircase.

On the third landing he paused a moment to catch his breath, and as he
laid his hand, the instant afterward, on the door of his sitting-room,