“That’s rather a long story. I should prefer her to tell it to you. Myra knows everything about me since the day after you received my last letter over a year ago.” She leaned forward, an angry spot burning on both cheeks. “Myra has been hiding you here all the time and has told me nothing about it!” “She has her excellent reasons. She will tell you in a very few words——” “She can’t. At any rate not now. She has been very ill with pneumonia. They thought she was dying and sent for me. Why otherwise should I be here?” “Are you staying at Mrs. Pettiland’s?” “Of course.” “I didn’t even know Myra was in Pendish—I’m grieved to hear she’s ill. I’m afraid I’ve neglected Mrs. Pettiland of late. She was very kind to me.” He paused and added with a smile, “I see Myra’s loyalty. She forbade Mrs. Pettiland to mention the name of the young man called Briggs. You’ve never heard of such a person at Pendish.” “Not a word,” said Olivia. “But I shall never forgive Myra. Never, never,” she cried indignantly. “To fool me like that!” He caught sudden hope from the flash in her dark eyes. “Would you have liked to know where I was?” “I hate duplicity. I thought that Myra, at least—my God! Is there anybody in the world one can trust?” Suddenly she turned on him. “What are you doing in that absurd livery?” “I’ve been earning my living in it, since last August. I’ve done it before. It’s an honester way than many others.” “Forgive me, if I don’t understand,” she said, still half-bewildered. “You have no need to earn your living by driving a car—a common chauffeur—unless——” She checked herself with a little gasp—but his quick brain divined her impulsive thought. “Unless I had taken to drink and gone to the bad, etcetera, etcetera——” She interrupted him quickly. “No, no. I never thought that. It was a _reductio ad absurdum_. But on what other hypothesis——? You’ve still your brain, your talent, your genius. Your pen——” “Which is mightier than the wheel,” he remarked. “I don’t know why you didn’t go to Poland. Perhaps you’ll explain. Anyhow you didn’t. You came here—to the absolute quiet of the country. Why haven’t you gone on writing?” “For the simple reason,” said he, “that Alexis Triona and all his works are dead. Washed out from the Book of Life. That side of me is all over and done with. You who know everything, can’t you understand?” She caught the note of truth in his words and gradually there began to dawn on her the immensity of his artist’s sacrifice. “Do you mean that you’re never going to write again?” “Never,” said he. “Does this look like it?” and he touched the brass buttons on his livery.