“I haven’t the slightest desire to,” Tallente replied.  “I have made my protest.  Nothing in the world can affect the morality of your action.  At the same time, I have got over my first dread of it.  I am prepared with my defence, and perhaps a little in the way of a counterattack.  No, I am not going hat in hand to your chief, Greening.  He must do as he thinks well.”

“If that is your attitude,” Greening observed, “things will probably take their course.  On the other hand, if you were inclined to have a heart-to-heart talk with the chief and our other editors, I believe that something might come of it.”

“In other words,” Tallente said coldly, “your chief, who is one of the most magnificent opportunists I ever knew, has suddenly begun to wonder whether he is backing the right horse.”

“Something like it, perhaps,” Greening admitted.  “Look here, Tallente,” he went on, “you’re a big man in your way and I know perfectly well that you wouldn’t throw away a real advantage out of pique.  Consider this matter.  I can’t pledge the paper or the chief.  I simply say—­see him and talk it over.”

Tallente shook his head.

“I am much obliged, Greening,” he said, “but I don’t want to go through life with this thing hanging over me.  Miller has a copy of the article, without a doubt.  If you turn him down, he’ll find some one else to publish it.  I should never know when the thunderbolt was going to fail.  I am prepared now and I would rather get it over.”

“Is Dartrey going to back you?” Greening asked.

Tallente smiled.

“I can’t give away secrets.”

Greening turned slowly away.

“I am off for a rubber of bridge,” he said.  “I am sorry, Tallente.  Better dismiss this interview from your mind altogether.  It very likely wouldn’t have led to anything.  All the same, I envy you your confidence.  If I could only guess at its source, I’d have a leader for to-morrow morning.”

Tallente walked down the stairs with a smile upon his lips.  He put on his hat and coat and hesitated for a moment on the broad steps.  Then a sudden wonderful thought came to him, an impulse entirely irresistible.  He started off westward, walking with feverish haste.

The spirit of adventure sat in his heart as he passed through the crowded streets.  The night was wonderfully clear, the stars were brilliant overhead and from behind the Colliseum dome a corner of the yellow moon was showing.  He was conscious of a sudden new feeling of kinship with these pleasure-seeking crowds who jostled him here and there upon the pavement.  He was glad to find himself amongst them and of them.  He felt that he had come down from the chilly heights to walk the lighted highways of the world.  The keen air with its touch of frost invigorated him.  There was a new suppleness in his pulses, a queer excitement in his whole being, which he scarcely understood until his long walk came to an end and he found himself at a standstill in front of the house in Charles Street, his unadmitted destination.