should have been accepted by her, in desperation, as her paid doer of unavowable offices? He knew that a woman of Lena Fontaine’s type, with an assured social position in the great world, does not descend into the half-world without a desperate struggle. Her back is against the wall, and she uses any weapon to hand. Hence her use of Billiter. At all events, in the present case there had been no pretence of friendship. To her it had obviously been a hateful matter of business, which she had been anxious to conclude as soon as possible. One condition she rigorously exacted; that her acquaintance with Billiter should not be revealed to Quixtus. She was not proud of Billiter. Huckaby took what comfort he could from the thought. Mrs. Fontaine sat talking to the two men until the tea-drinking and chattering crowd had melted away. Then she rose, thanked them prettily for wasting their science-filled time on an irresponsible woman’s loneliness, and expressed to Huckaby the hope that she would see him again before he left Paris. “I trust I, too, may have the pleasure,” said Quixtus. “You might lead us to the Fountain of Youth one of these evenings,” said Huckaby. “It would be delightful,” said the lady, with a questioning glance at Quixtus. “I could dream of nothing more pleasant,” he replied, bowing in his old-fashioned way. When she had gone, the men resumed their seats. Quixtus lit a cigarette. “A very charming woman.” Huckaby agreed. “It has been one of my great regrets of the past few years that I have not been able to keep up our old friendship. We moved in different worlds.” He paused, as if thinking sorrowfully of his misspent life. “I hope you don’t mind my suggesting the little dinner-party,” he said, after a while. “My position was a delicate one.” “It was a very good idea,” said Quixtus. Huckaby said little more, preferring to leave well alone. The plot, up to this point, had succeeded. Quixtus gave complete credence to the story, unsuspecting that Mrs. Fontaine was the woman selected for his heart-breaking experiment, and already considerably attracted by her personality. Diabolical possibilities could be insinuated later. In the meanwhile; Huckaby had played his part. Future success now lay in Mrs. Fontaine’s hands. Quixtus dined that evening with one of his colleagues, and Huckaby, after a meal at a restaurant, went to the Comédie Française and sat through _Phèdre_ from beginning to end, with great enjoyment. The re-awakening of his æsthetic sense, dulled for so many years, surprised and gratified him. When he met his patron the next morning, he said abruptly; “If I had a chance of getting back again, I’d take it.” “Getting back where?” asked Quixtus. “To London?” Huckaby explained. “I’m tired of running crooked,” he added. “If I could only get regular work to bring me in a few pounds a week, I’d run straight and sober for the rest of my life.”