only serious object which she has ever sought to accomplish. My destiny, I am afraid, is going to lead me into the ruts.”

He shook his head.

“You were never born,” he declared, “to follow the well worn roads. I wonder,” he added, after a moment’s pause, “whether you ever realize how young you are.”

“Young? I am twenty-four.”

“Yet you are very young. Anna, why will you persist in this single-handed combat with life?”

“Don’t!” she cried.

“But I must, I will,” he answered fiercely. “Oh, I know you would stop me if you could. This time you cannot. You are the woman I love, Anna. Let me make your future for you. Don’t be afraid that I shall stunt it. I will give you a broad free life. You shall have room to develop, you shall live as you will, where you will, only give me the right to protect you, to free you from all these petty material cares.”

She laid her hand softly upon his.

“Dear friend,” she said, “do you not think that you are breaking an unspoken compact? I am very sorry. In your heart you know quite well that all that you have said is useless.”

“Ay,” he repeated, looking away from her. “Useless—worse than useless.”

“You are foolish,” she declared, with a note of irritability in her tone. “You would appear to be trying to destroy a comradeship which has been very, very pleasant. For you know that I have made up my mind to dig a little way into life single-handed. I, too, want to understand—to walk with my head in the light. Love is a great thing, and happiness a joy. Let me go my own way towards them. We may meet—who can tell? But I will not be fettered, even though you would make the chains of roses. Listen.”

She stopped short. There was a sharp knocking at the outside door. Courtlaw rose to his feet.

“It is too late for visitors,” she remarked. “I wonder would you mind seeing who it is.”

Courtlaw crossed the room and threw open the door. He had come to Anna’s rooms from a dinner party, and he was in evening dress. Sir John, who was standing outside, looked past him at the girl still sitting in the shadow.

“I believe,” he said stiffly, “that these are the apartments of Miss Pellissier. I must apologize for disturbing you at such an unseemly hour, but I should be very much obliged if Miss Pellissier would allow me a few minutes’ conversation. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall.”