He realised the absolute truth of the remark in a flash. The novelists had in no way interested him. He had not thought about these people at all--this maiden was a psychologist then! There was something subtly flattering in what she had said. His point of view had interested the girl, she had discovered it, small and unimportant though it was. "But why did you dislike poor Mr. Toftrees?" he said, with an eminently friendly smile--already an unconscious note of intimacy had been sounded, he was interested to hear why she disliked the man, not the woman. "He is pompous and insincere," she replied. "He tries to draw attention to his great success, or rather his notoriety, by pretending to despise it. Surely, it would be far more manly to accept the fact frankly, and not to hint that he could be a great artist if he could bring himself to do without a lot of money!" Lothian wondered what had provoked this little outburst. It was quiveringly sincere, that he saw. His eyes questioned hers. "It's such dreadful appalling treacle they write! I saw a little flapper in the Tube two days ago, with the Toftrees' latest book--'Milly Mine.' Her expression was ecstatic!" "For my part I think that's something to have done, do you know, to have taken that flapper out of the daily tube of her life into Romance. Heaven with electric lights and plush fittings is better than none at all. I couldn't grudge the flapper her ecstasy, nor Mr. Toftrees his big cheques. I should very much like to see the people in Tubes reading my books--it would be good for them--and to pouch enormous cheques myself--would be good for me! But there must be Toftrees sort of persons now that every one knows how to read!" "Well, I'll let his work alone," she answered, "but I certainly do dislike him. He was trying to run your work down last night--though we wouldn't let him." So the secret was out now! Lothian smiled and the quick, enthusiastic girl understood. A little ripple of laughter came from her. "Yes, that's it," she cried. "He did all he could." "Did he? Confound him! I wonder why?" Lothian asked the question with entire simplicity. Subtle-minded and complex as he was, he was incapable of mean thoughts and muddy envy when he was not under the influence of drink. Poisoned, alas, he was entirely different. All the evil in him rose to the surface. As yet it by no means obscured or overpowered the good, but it became manifest and active. In the case of this fine intellect and splendid artist, no less than in the worker in the slum or the labourer in the field, drink seemed an actual key to unlock the dark and secret doors of wickedness which are in every heart. Some coiled and sleeping serpent within him, no less than in them, raised its head into baleful life and sudden enmity of good.