speak and abruptly closed them. His face suddenly underwent an
extraordinary change. A few seconds ago his attitude had been that of a
professor examining some favorite object of study; now a more personal
note had humanized his expression. Whatever thought or reflection it was
that had come into his mind, it had plainly startled him.

"Who is the woman?" he asked breathlessly.

"There is no secret about it, so far as I am concerned," John answered.
"It is Louise Maurel. I thought you must have guessed."

The two men looked at each other in silence for some moments. Out on the
river a little tug was hooting vigorously. The roar of the Strand came
faintly into the room. Upon the mantelpiece a very ornate French clock
was ticking lightly. All these sounds seemed suddenly accentuated. They
beat time to a silence almost tragical in its intensity.

Graillot took out his handkerchief and dabbed his forehead. He had
written many plays, and the dramatic instinct was strongly developed in
him.

"Louise!" he muttered under his breath.

"She is very different, I know," John went on, after a moment's
hesitation. "She is very clever and a great artist, and she lives in an
atmosphere of which, a few months ago, I knew nothing. I have come up
here to try to understand, to try to get a little nearer to her."

There was another silence, this time almost an awkward one. Then
Graillot rose suddenly to his feet.

"I will respect your confidence," he promised, holding out his hand.
"Have no fear of that. I am due now at the theater. Your tea is
excellent, and such little cakes I never tasted before."

"You will wish me good luck?"

"No!"

"Why not?" John demanded, a little startled.

"Because," Graillot pronounced, "from what I have seen and know of you
both, there are no two people in this world less suitable for each
other."

"Look here," John expostulated, "I don't want you to go away thinking
so. You don't understand what this means to me."

"Perhaps not, my friend," Graillot replied, "but remember that it is at
least my trade to understand men and women. I have known Louise Maurel
since she was a child."

"Then it is I whom you don't understand."

"That may be so," Graillot confessed. "One makes mistakes. Let us leave
it at that. You are a young man of undeveloped temperament. You may be
capable of much which at present I do not find in you."

"Tell me the one quality in which you consider me most lacking," John
b