we never know at
what moment an earthquake may rend what has seemed to us the
indestructible foundations of our existence.

The _Star_ had been wonderfully successful, and Nort had been going from
glory to dazzling glory, having everything his own way, and coming, I
have no doubt, to think himself something of an exception to the common
lot of poor human nature. He was in the first bloom of his genius (you
will yet hear from Norton Carr, mark my word), and like many another
ardent young man he thought the world was made for him, not he for the
world. He liked people, and he knew that people liked him--and presumed
upon it. And more and more he loved to toss off his glittering ideas and
his wonderful plans, enjoying the bedazzlement which they aroused and
ready to laugh at those who were too easily taken in. At first he was
willing to sit down and work hard to bring his dreams to pass, but he
had never been trained to steady effort, and unless he was forced it was
irksome to him. He liked to explain his ideas and let any one else work
them out, or drop them. He was like that vagabond of birds, the cuckoo,
always laying eggs in the nests of other birds, knowing with a sort of
sardonic humour that if they _did_ hatch the young birds would and could
be nothing but cuckoos.

As spring advanced Nort grew still more undependable. It seemed to get
into his very blood. I would catch him looking out of the open window of
our office into the mass of lilac leaves, or lifting his chin to take in
a full breath of the good outdoors, and when he whistled, and he was
often whistling, the low monotonous note had a curious lift and stir in
it. He was frequently moody, and when he did burst out it was almost
never to Anthy. He seemed actually to avoid Anthy, and yet without any
set purpose of doing so. And of all of us he liked best to talk with
Fergus, who treated him very much as a she-bear treats her cub, with
evidences of burly affection which usually left claw marks.

I could see that all this was getting to be very distressing to Anthy.
Perhaps she felt that the pace the _Star_ was setting was far too great
to keep; perhaps she felt that too much rested upon the uncertain
quantity which was Nort--and perhaps, down deep, she had begun to have a
more than ordinary interest in Nort. She was not one of those women who
are quickly awakened, and she was absorbed in her enterprise, and,
besides, to all outward appearances, Nort was a mere