She knelt up quickly. Her arm slipped round his neck. She drew his head
with soft insistence to her breast.
"My own boy, it's over; forget it all. It wasn't meant to handicap you
always. We'll have another deal now, please God, and start afresh as
partners."
There followed a pause--a silence that had in it something sacred. Then
West raised himself, and took her face between his hands. For a moment
he looked deep into her eyes, his own alight with a vital fire.
Then, "As lovers, Cynthia," he said, and kissed her on the lips.
* * * * *
The Nonentity
I
"It is well known that those fight hardest who fight in vain," remarked
Lord Ronald Prior complacently. "But I should have thought a woman of
your intellect would have known better. It's such a rank waste of energy
to struggle against Fate."
He spoke in the easy drawl habitual to him. His grey eyes held the
pleasant smile that was seldom absent from them. Not in any fashion a
striking personality, this; his kindest friend could not have called him
imposing, nor could the most uncharitable have described him as anything
worse than dull. Enemies he had none. His invariable good temper was his
safeguard in this particular. The most offensive remark would not have
provoked more than momentarily raised eyebrows.
He was positively characterless, so Beryl Denvers told herself a dozen
times a day.
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