serene life, into a new sort of life
here--and I am not equal to it. I had got so used, I suppose, to
picking up other lives, that I thought I could do the same here--and I
seem to have taken on more than I could manage. I forgot, I think, that
I was getting older, that I had left youth behind. I made the mistake
of thinking I could play a new role--and I cannot. I am tired--yes, I
am deadly tired; and I feel now as if I wanted to get out of it all,
and just leave things to work themselves out. I have meddled, and I am
being punished for meddling. I have been playing with fire, and I have
been burnt. I had thought of a new sort of life. Don't you remember,"
he added with a smile, "the monkey in Buckland's book, who got into the
kettle on the hob, and whenever he tried to leave it, found it so cold
outside, that he dared not venture out--and he was nearly boiled alive!"

"No, I DON'T understand," said Maud, with so sudden an air of sorrow
and unhappiness that Howard could hardly refrain from taking her into
his arms like a tired child and comforting her. "I don't understand at
all. You came here, and you fitted in at once, seemed to understand
everyone and everything, and gave us all a lift. It is miserable--that
you should have brought so much happiness to us, and then have tired of
it all. I don't understand it in the least. Something must have
happened to distress you--it can't all go to pieces like this!"

"Oh," said Howard, "I interfered. It is my accursed trick of playing
with people, wanting to be liked, wanting to make a difference. How can
I explain? . . . Well, I must tell you. You must forgive me somehow! I
tried--don't look at me while I say it--I have tried to interfere with
YOU. I tried to make a friend of you; and then when you came to
Cambridge, I saw I had claimed too much; that your place was not with
such as myself--the old, stupid, battered generation, fit for nothing
but worrying along. I saw you were young, and needed youth about you.
God forgive me for my selfish plans. I wanted to keep your friendship
for myself, and when I saw you were attracted elsewhere, I was
jealous--horribly, vilely jealous. But I have the grace to despise
myself for it, and I won't hamper you in any way. You must just give me
what you can, and I will be thankful."

As he spoke he saw a curious light pass into the girl's face--a light
of understanding and resolution. He thought that she would tell him
that he was right; a