Grosvenor Place.”

“But I hope to see you on the boat.”

Eric had not overlooked that possibility, but he decided that he did not want to meet Miss Ivy Maitland again.

“But—in case we don’t,” he said. “Good-night.”

In his own room he threw open the window to liberate the day’s stifling accumulation of steam-heating. Kneeling on a chair with his chin on his hands, he looked down on a plateau of roofs startlingly punctuated by the blazing bean-stalks of slender giant buildings. It was the last time that he would see New York at night, the last time that he would be in America. He had made his last speech; he hoped devoutly that he had submitted for the last time to the unintelligent exuberance of too appreciative school-girls....

At three o’clock his vigil was not yet ended, but he turned from the window with a shiver and began to undress. It was well enough to make this catalogue of things that he would never do again, but for two years he had been trying to discover what life he could fashion for himself in their stead.

“I’m beaten,” he whispered to the darkness as he turned restlessly from side to side. “I may as well admit it... I’ve never said it before in all my life. I never thought I should say it; and I can still put up a good bluff on occasion. But I’m beaten....”