us beside, say, Sylvia's: to secure better things for those
about me, instead of for my own soul only. But what of Crondall? As I
say, my eyes pricked, even while I framed some sentence in my mind
expressing regret for his wrong-headedness. Ah, well!

The same week--the same day--brought me the gentlest little note of
dismissal from Sylvia. Her duty to her father, and--my ideas seemed too
much for her peace of mind; so bewildering. "I am no politician, you
know; and truth to tell, these matters which seem so much to you that
you would have them drive religion from me, they seem to me so
infinitely unimportant. Forgive me!"

No doubt my vanity was wounded, but I will not pretend that I was very
seriously hurt. Neither could I ponder long upon the matter, because
another letter, received by the same post, claimed my attention.
Sylvia's letter threw out a hint of better things for us in a year or
two's time. Her notion of a break between us was "for the present."
There were references to "later on, when you can come here again, and we
need not hide things." But my other letter made more instant claims. It
was type-written, and ran thus:

"DEAR MR. MORDAN:--Mr. Chas. N. Pierce directs me to inform you that
after the expiration of the present month your services will no
longer be required by the editor of the _Daily Gazette_.

"I am, Sir,
Yours faithfully,
JAMES MARTIN,
_Secretary_."

I pictured the little pale-eyed rabbit of a man typing the dictum of his
Napoleon, his hero, and wondering in his amiable way how "Mr. Mordan"
would be affected thereby, and how he had managed to displease the great
man. As for "the editor of the _Daily Gazette_," I had not seen him
since the day of my engagement. But I recalled now various recent signs
of chill disapproval of my work on Mr. Pierce's part. And, indeed, I was
aware myself of a slackness in my work, a kind of reckless,
windmill-tilting tendency in my general attitude.

Meantime, there was the fact that I had recently encroached twice upon
my tiny nest-egg; once to buy a wedding present for my sister Lucy, and
once for a piece of silly extravagance.

It was quite a notable week.

IX

A STEP DOWN

"Cosmopolitanism is nonsense; the cosmopolite is a cipher,