"Embodied, in Paul's case, in Yvonne."

"He would be in no doubt about it, and no more would she. If she was below him he would raise her, if she was above him he might marry, but he would not mistake another woman for the right one. And things that convinced other men would not convince a true initiate. So I am worried about Paul, because if he is not a true initiate, where did he learn the things that are in _The Gates_?"

Don's face was very grave. "You have been studying strange books, Flamby. What have you been reading?"

"Heaps of things." Flamby blushed. "I managed to get a Reader's ticket for the British Museum. I am interested, you see. But there are things in Paul's book and other things promised in the next which--oh!--I'm afraid I can't explain----"

"You cannot account for such knowledge in an ordinary mortal, and evidently something has occurred which has led you to regard Paul as less than a G.o.d. Tell me about it, Flamby."

III

Don stood up, and walking across the room looked out of the window into the quadrangle. The story of the Charleswood photographs, which Flamby had related with many a pause and hesitance, had seemed to cast upon the room a shadow--the shadow of a wicked hypocrite. Both were silent for several minutes.

"And you are sure that Paul has seen these photographs?" said Don.

"You must have noticed the change in him yourself."

"I had noticed it, Flamby. I am afraid you are right. I will go down to Devonshire to-night and----"

"You will not!"

Don turned, and Flamby, her face evenly dusky and her eyes very bright, was standing up watching him. "Please don't be angry," she said approaching him, "because I spoke like that. But I could never forgive you if you told him. If he can think such a thing of me I don't care.

What have I ever said or done that he should _dare_ to think such a thing!"

Don took both her hands and found that she was trembling. She looked aside, biting her lower lip. In vain she sought to control her emotions, knowing that they had finally betrayed her secret to this man in whose steadfast eyes she had long ago read a sorrowful understanding. At that moment she came near to hating Paul, and this, too, Don perceived with the clairvoyance of love. But because he was a very n.o.ble gentleman indeed, and at least as worthy of honour as the immortal Bussy d'Amboise, he sought not to advantage himself but to plead the cause of his friend and to lighten the sorrow of Flamby. "Have you tried hard not to care so much?"

Flamby nodded desperately, her eyes wells of tears.

"And it was useless?"

"Oh!" she cried, "I am mad! I hate myself! I hate myself!" She withdrew her hands and leapt on to the settee wildly, pressing her face against the cushions.

Don inhaled a deep breath and stood watching her. He thrust his hands into the pockets of his tunic. "Have you considered, Flamby, what a hopeless thing it is."

"Of course, of course! I should loathe and despise any other girl who was such a wicked little fool. Dad would have killed me, and I should have deserved it!"

"Don't blame Paul too much, Flamby."

"I don't. I am glad that he can be so mean," she sobbed. "It helps me not to like him any more!"

"Paul is no ordinary man, Flamby, but neither is he a magician. How could you expect him to know?"

"He never even asked me."

Don, watching her, suddenly recognised that he could trust himself to pursue this conversation no further. "Tell me why you wanted to see Orlando James again," he said.

Flamby looked up quickly, and Don's hands clenched themselves in his pockets when he saw her tear-stained face. "I am afraid," she replied, "to tell you--now."

"Why are you afraid now, Flamby?"

"Because you will think----"

"I shall think nothing unworthy of you, Flamby."

"I went," said Flamby, twisting a little lace handkerchief in her hands, "because I was afraid--for Paul."

"For Paul!"

"You are beginning to wonder already."

"I am beginning to wonder but not to doubt. In what way were you afraid?"

"He is so sure."

"Sure that he has found the truth?"

"Not that, but sure that he is right in making it known."

Don hesitated. He, too, had had his moments of doubt, but he perceived that Flamby's doubts were based upon some matter of which at present he knew nothing. "Paul believes quite sincerely that he has been chosen for this task," he said. "He believes his present circ.u.mstances, or _Karma_, to be due to a number of earlier incarnations devoted to the pursuit of knowledge."

"Do you think if that was true he would make so many mistakes about people?" asked Flamby, and her voice had not yet recovered entire steadiness.

"I have told you that he is not a magician, Flamby, but you have still to tell me why you wanted to see Orlando James."

"I don't believe I can tell you, after all." Flamby had twisted the little handkerchief into a rope and was tugging at it desperately.

"Why?"

"Well--I might be wrong, and then I should never forgive myself. It is something you ought to know, but I can see now that I cannot tell you."

Don very deliberately took up his pipe from the table. "Here's an ash-tray," said Flamby in a faint voice. "Shall we go out to tea and see if we can cheer ourselves up a bit?"

"I think we might," replied Don, smiling in almost the old way. "Some place where there is a band."

As a direct result of this conversation, Paul received a letter two days later from Don. It touched whimsically upon many matters, and finally, "I have decided to add Orlando James to my list of undesirable acquaintances," wrote Don. "Don't let this harsh decision influence your own conduct in any way, but if at any time you chance to go walking with him and meet myself, pardon me if I fail to acknowledge either of you."

Paul read this paragraph many times. He received the letter one morning whilst Yvonne was out, she having gone into the neighbouring village, and when she came back he spoke of it to her. "Have you seen anything of Orlando James recently?" he asked.

Yvonne turned and began to arrange some fresh flowers in a bowl upon the cottage window-ledge. "No," she replied. "I have seen him rarely since the portrait was finished. Why?"

"I was merely wondering. He seems to be establishing a queer sort of reputation. Thessaly has thrown out hints more than once and Don quite frankly dislikes him."

"What kind of reputation, Paul?"

"Oh, the wrong kind for a portrait painter," replied Paul lightly. "I shall send him a cheque for the picture."