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“
Her
life
?
Where
did
you
get
that
?
”
“
Someone
lent
it
to
me
when
it
came
out
—
Mr
.
Flamel
,
I
think
.
”
His
first
impulse
was
to
exclaim
,
“
Why
the
devil
do
you
borrow
books
of
Flamel
?
I
can
buy
you
all
you
want
—
”
but
he
felt
himself
irresistibly
forced
into
an
attitude
of
smiling
compliance
.
“
Flamel
always
has
the
newest
books
going
,
hasn
’
t
he
?
You
must
be
careful
,
by
the
way
,
about
returning
what
he
lends
you
.
He
’
s
rather
crotchety
about
his
library
.
”
“
Oh
,
I
’
m
always
very
careful
,
”
she
said
,
with
a
touch
of
competence
that
struck
him
;
and
she
added
,
as
he
caught
up
his
hat
:
“
Don
’
t
forget
the
letters
.
”
Why
had
she
asked
for
the
book
?
Was
her
sudden
wish
to
see
it
the
result
of
some
hint
of
Flamel
’
s
?
The
thought
turned
Glennard
sick
,
but
he
preserved
sufficient
lucidity
to
tell
himself
,
a
moment
later
,
that
his
last
hope
of
self
-
control
would
be
lost
if
he
yielded
to
the
temptation
of
seeing
a
hidden
purpose
in
everything
she
said
and
did
.
How
much
Flamel
guessed
,
he
had
no
means
of
divining
;
nor
could
he
predicate
,
from
what
he
knew
of
the
man
,
to
what
use
his
inferences
might
be
put
.
The
very
qualities
that
had
made
Flamel
a
useful
adviser
made
him
the
most
dangerous
of
accomplices
.
Glennard
felt
himself
agrope
among
alien
forces
that
his
own
act
had
set
in
motion
.
.
.
.
Alexa
was
a
woman
of
few
requirements
;
but
her
wishes
,
even
in
trifles
,
had
a
definiteness
that
distinguished
them
from
the
fluid
impulses
of
her
kind
.
He
knew
that
,
having
once
asked
for
the
book
,
she
would
not
forget
it
;
and
he
put
aside
,
as
an
ineffectual
expedient
,
his
momentary
idea
of
applying
for
it
at
the
circulating
library
and
telling
her
that
all
the
copies
were
out
.
If
the
book
was
to
be
bought
it
had
better
be
bought
at
once
.
He
left
his
office
earlier
than
usual
and
turned
in
at
the
first
book
-
shop
on
his
way
to
the
train
.
The
show
-
window
was
stacked
with
conspicuously
lettered
volumes
.
“
Margaret
Aubyn
”
flashed
back
at
him
in
endless
repetition
.
He
plunged
into
the
shop
and
came
on
a
counter
where
the
name
reiterated
itself
on
row
after
row
of
bindings
.
It
seemed
to
have
driven
the
rest
of
literature
to
the
back
shelves
.
He
caught
up
a
copy
,
tossing
the
money
to
an
astonished
clerk
who
pursued
him
to
the
door
with
the
unheeded
offer
to
wrap
up
the
volumes
.
In
the
street
he
was
seized
with
a
sudden
apprehension
.
What
if
he
were
to
meet
Flamel
?
The
thought
was
intolerable
.
He
called
a
cab
and
drove
straight
to
the
station
where
,
amid
the
palm
-
leaf
fans
of
a
perspiring
crowd
,
he
waited
a
long
half
-
hour
for
his
train
to
start
.
He
had
thrust
a
volume
in
either
pocket
and
in
the
train
he
dared
not
draw
them
out
;
but
the
detested
words
leaped
at
him
from
the
folds
of
the
evening
paper
.
The
air
seemed
full
of
Margaret
Aubyn
’
s
name
.
The
motion
of
the
train
set
it
dancing
up
and
down
on
the
page
of
a
magazine
that
a
man
in
front
of
him
was
reading
.
.
.
.
