e mournful smile he had not noticed,
and fixed themselves on the bright fire. "'In those days,"' he said,
"'men's relation to the eternal airs was the relation of a billion
little separate draughts blowing against the south-west wind. They did
not wish to merge themselves in that soft, moon-uttered sigh, but blew
in its face through crevices, and cracks, and keyholes, and were borne
away on the pellucid journey, whistling out their protests.'"

He again tried to stand, evidently wishing to get to his desk to record
this thought, but, failing, looked painfully at Hilary. He seemed about
to ask for something, but checked himself.

"If I practise hard," he murmured, "I shall master it."

Hilary rose and brought him paper and a pencil. In bending, he saw that
Mr. Stone's eyes were dim with moisture. This sight affected him so that
he was glad to turn away and fetch a book to form a writing-pad.

When Mr. Stone had finished, he sat back in his chair with closed
eyes. A supreme silence reigned in the bare room above those two men of
different generations and of such strange dissimilarity of character.
Hilary broke that silence.

"I heard the cuckoo sing to-day," he said, almost in a whisper, lest Mr.
Stone should be asleep.

"The cuckoo," replied Mr. Stone, "has no sense of brotherhood."

"I forgive him-for his song," murmured Hilary.

"His song," said Mr. Stone, "is alluring; it excites the sexual
instinct."

Then to himself he added:

"She has not come, as yet!"

Even as he spoke there was heard by Hilary a faint tapping on the door.
He rose and opened it. The little model stood outside.

CHAPTER XXIX

RETURN OF THE LITTLE MODEL

That same afternoon in High Street, Kensington, "Westminister," with his
coat-collar raised against the inclement wind, his old hat spotted with
rain, was drawing at a clay pipe and fixing his iron-rimmed gaze on
those who passed him by. It had been a day when singularly few as yet
had bought from him his faintly green-tinged journal, and the low class
of fellow who sold the other evening prints had especially exasperated
him. His single mind, always torn to some extent between an ingrained
loyalty to his employers and those politics of his which differed from
his paper's, had vented itself twice since coming on his stand; once in
these words to the seller of "Pell Mells": "I stupulated with you not to
come beyond the lamp-post. Don't you never speak to me again--a-crowdin'