go, of course? Everybody will be there,—quite the biggest affair of the season."
"No. I'm not invited, I fancy. I came back quite unexpectedly."
"But of course such an intime at the house as you are would not hesitate to go for the want of a card. Come along!"
"Thank you, Grosvenor, I have some letters to write." And, throwing away his unsmoked cigarette, Farwell walked into the quiet library at the back of the Club. It was empty, and, turning the gas low, Farwell threw himself into a chair, his back toward the door, and sat quite still for a space. His face was deadly white, under all the bronze he had acquired on the journey, and his forehead was lined with three deep furrows as he sat, his head leaning on his hand, deep in thought. When he moved at last, after a space of a quarter of an hour, his first action was a very strange one, and would have been considered by any of the men of the Club as extremely repre-
