He was very silent.

But I remember that, as we watched the sun go down--a glowing crimson ball, half veiled in grey mist--he said abruptly, "If Lawrence makes her happy I can bear it.

And of course I always knew that I was not worthy of her." Derrick's room was a large, gaunt, ghostly place in one of the towers of the hotel, and in one corner of it was a winding stair leading to the roof.

When I went in next morning I found him writing away at his novel just as usual, but when I looked at him it seemed to me that the night had aged him fearfully.

As a rule, he took interruptions as a matter of course, and with perfect sweetness of temper; but to-day he seemed unable to drag himself back to the outer world.