d
her fragrance and her dearness are within arm's length, a man has but to
catch her to him and silence her pleadings with a man's strength, and carry
her off in triumph. It has been the way of man with woman since the world
began, and Sypher knew it by his man's instinct. It was a temptation such
as he had never dreamed was in the world. He passed through a flaming,
blazing torment of battle.

"Forget what I have said, Zora. We'll be friends, if you so wish it."

He pressed her hands and turned away. Zora felt that she had gained an
empty victory.

"I ought to be going," she said.

"Not yet. Let us sit down and talk like friends. It's many weary months
since I have seen you."

She remained a little longer and they talked quietly of many things. On
bidding her good-by he said half playfully:

"I've often wondered why you have taken up with a fellow like me."

"I suppose it's because you're a big man," said Zora.

CHAPTER XX

Septimus walked back to his club after his dinner with Zora, blessing his
stars for two reasons: first, because a gracious providence had restored
him to favor in his goddess's sight, and, secondly, because he had escaped
without telling her of the sundered lives of Emmy and himself. By the time
he went to bed, however, having pondered for some hours over the
interdependent relations between Zora, Sypher, Emmy, and himself, he had
entangled his mind into a condition of intricate complication. He longed to
continue to sun himself in the presence of his divinity. But being a
married man (no matter how nominally), too much sunning appeared
reprehensible. He had also arranged for the sunning of Clem Sypher, and was
aware of the indelicacy of two going through this delicious process at the
same time. He also dreaded the possible incredulity of Zora when he should
urge the ferociousness of his domestic demeanor as the reason for his
living apart from his wife. The consequence was that after a sleepless
night he bolted like a rabbit to his burrow at Nunsmere. At any rate, the
mission of the dog's tail was accomplished.

His bolt took place on Friday. On Saturday morning he was awakened by
Wiggleswick.

The latter's attire was not that of the perfect valet. He wore an old,
colored shirt open at the throat, a pair of trousers hitched up to his
shoulder blades by means of a pair of red braces, and a pair of dilapidated
carpet slippers.

"Here's a letter."

"Oh, post it," said Septimus