Tommy did not tell Grizel of the tragedy that was hanging over him.  He was determined to save her that pain.  He knew that most men in his position would have told her, and was glad to find that he could keep it so gallantly to himself.  She was brave; perhaps some day she would discover that he had been brave also.  When she talked of wings now, what he seemed to see was a green grave.  His eyes were moist, but he held his head high.  All this helped him.

Ah, well, but the world must jog along though you and I be damned.  Elspeth was happily married, and there came the day when Tommy and Grizel must say good-bye.  He was returning to London.  His luggage was already in Corp’s barrow, all but the insignificant part of it, which yet made a bulky package in its author’s pocket, for it was his new manuscript, for which he would have fought a regiment, yes, and beaten them.  Little cared Tommy what became of the rest of his luggage so long as that palpitating package was safe.

“And little you care,” Grizel said, in a moment of sudden bitterness, “whom you leave behind, so long as you take it with you.”

He forgave her with a sad smile.  She did not know, you see, that this manuscript might be his last.

And it was the only bitter thing she said.  Even when he looked very sorry for her, she took advantage of his emotion to help him only.  “Don’t be too sorry for me,” she said calmly; “remember, rather, that there is one episode in a woman’s life to which she must always cling in memory, whether it was a pride to her or a shame, and that it rests with you to make mine proud or shameful.”

In other words, he was to get rid of his wings.  How she harped on that!

He wanted to kiss her on the brow, but she would not have it.  He was about to do it, not to gratify any selfish desire, but of a beautiful impulse that if anything happened she would have this to remember as the last of him.  But she drew back almost angrily.  Positively, she was putting it down to sentiment, and he forgave her even that.

But she kissed the manuscript.  “Wish it luck,” he had begged of her; “you were always so fond of babies, and this is my baby.”  So Grizel kissed Tommy’s baby, and then she turned away her face.

CHAPTER XXV

MR. T. SANDYS HAS RETURNED TO TOWN

It is disquieting to reflect that we have devoted so much paper (this is the third shilling’s worth) to telling what a real biographer would almost certainly have summed up in a few pages.  “Caring nothing for glory, engrossed in his work alone, Mr. Sandys, soon after the publication of the ‘Letters,’ sought the peace of his mother’s native village, and there, alike undisturbing and undisturbed, he gave his life, as ever, to laborious days and quiet contemplation.  The one vital fact in these six months of lofty endeavour is that he was making progress with the new book.  Fishing and other distractions were occasionally indulged in, but merely that he might rise fresher next morning to a book which absorbed,” etc.