Cartoner was very kind to us in London.
We all like him. Martin cannot, of course, say anything for him. My
father won't--"

Deulin was playing a gay little air with his fingers on the table.
His touch was staccato, and he appeared to be taking some pride in his
execution.

"Years ago," he said, after a pause, "I once took it upon myself to
advise Cartoner. He was quite a young man. He listened to my advice with
exemplary patience, and then acted in direct contradiction to it--and
never explained. He is shockingly bad at explanation. And he was right,
and I was wrong."

He finished his gay little air with an imaginary chord, played with both
hands.

"Voila!" he said. "I can do nothing, fair princess."

"But surely you will not stand idle and watch a man throw away his
life," said Wanda, looking at him in surprise.

He raised his eyes to hers for a moment, and they were startlingly
serious. They were dark eyes, beneath gray lashes. The whole man was
neat and gray and--shallow, as some thought.

"My dear Wanda," he said, "for forty years and more I have watched
men--and women--do worse than throw their lives away. And it has quite
ceased to affect my appetite."

Wanda rose from her chair, and Deulin's face changed again. He shot a
sidelong glance at her and bit his lip. His eyes were keen enough now.

"Listen!" he said, as he followed her to the door. "I will give him a
little hint--the merest ghost of a hint--will that do?"

"Thank you," said Wanda, going more slowly towards the door.

"Though I do not know why we should, any of us, trouble about this
Englishman."

Wanda quickened her pace a little, and made no answer.

"There are reasons why I should not accompany you," said Deulin, opening
the door. "Try the right-hand staircase, and the other way round."

He closed the door behind her, and stood looking at the chair which
Wanda had just vacated.

"Only the third woman who knows what she wants," he said, "and yet I
have known thousands--thousands."

XVI

MUCH--OR NOTHING

If we contemplate our neighbour's life with that calm indifference
to his good or ill which is the only true philosophy, it will become
apparent that the gods amuse themselves with men as children amuse
themselves with toys. Most lives are marked by a series of events, a
long roll of monotonous years, and perhaps another series of events. In
some the monotonous years come first, while others have a long breathing
space