"But, don't you see," cried Gilderman, enthusiastically, stretching out his hand across the table and opening it tensely, "if this life's only the first step in a man's existence, how beautifully all the inequality and the injustice of the world is made equal and orderly in view of the world to come. We are all passing through a little state of probation. What does it matter if a man is rich or poor for these few short years of life?" "By Jove! it matters a deuced deal, I can tell you," said Stirling West. "Look here, Gildy, you don't know, and nobody knows, that he has a life to live after he's dead." "Yes, I do," said Gilderman; "I know it as well as I know that I'm alive now." But even as he spoke he knew that there were moments when he doubted it. "No; you don't know it. You believe it, but you don't know it. Well, old man, a bird in the hand's worth two in the bush, any day. My life's a bird in the hand--it's a lark, you know--and I'm going to get all the fun out of it there is in it. I'm dead sure I'm alive now, and I'm not sure of what is to come after I'm dead. You may bet your life I'm not going to throw away my present chances for something I don't know about." Gilderman paused for a little while. "Oh, well," he said, presently, "it doesn't matter. If God don't want you to see the truth, you can't see it, and no man can make you see it. He has His own divine way of regenerating every man. I believe--you don't believe; I see--you don't see. It is neither to my credit nor to your discredit. It is simply that we're made as we are." A sudden chill of doubt came over him even as he spoke. Such a chill of doubt often struck across his spirit even when he was in the very heat of his enthusiasm. And then again it occurred to him how absurd and out of place it was for him to be discussing such things in the café of the International Club, in the midst of the smoking, the empty coffee-cups, and the humming undertone of masculine talking. Stirling West sat smoking in meditative silence for a while. By-and-by he suddenly spoke again. "By-the-way," he said, "have you seen Olivia Carrington yet?" Olivia Carrington was a notable concert-hall dancer who had just been imported into the country. Gilderman had thought that his companion had been meditating upon what they had been saying. The sudden change of topic made him feel still more the absurdity of his late enthusiasm. "No, I haven't seen her," he said. "By Jove, she's a daisy! What do you say to go around to the Westminster and see her this evening?" "I don't know. All right, I'll go with you." They pushed back their chairs and arose. Gilderman realized very thoroughly what an egregious fool he had been. * * * * *