“I used to hear its heart beating.”

“Yes, exactly!  But this is still more remarkable.  I put it away at last in my sweetest drawer, and when I woke in the morning it was under my pillow again.  You could never have guessed that.”

“Easily.  It often did the same thing with me.”  “Story-teller!  But what did you do when you went home?”

He could not have answered that exhaustively, even if he would, for his actions had been as contradictory as his emotions.  He had feared even while he exulted, and exulted when plunged deep in fears.  There had been quite a procession of Tommies all through the night; one of them had been a very miserable man, and the only thing he had been sure of was that he must be true to Grizel.  But in so far as he did answer he told the truth.

“I went for a stroll among the stars,” he said.  “I don’t know when I got to bed.  I have found a way of reaching the stars.  I have to say only, ‘Grizel loves me,’ and I am there.”

“Without me!”

“I took you with me.”

“What did we see?  What did we do?”

“You spoiled everything by thinking the stars were badly managed.  You wanted to take the supreme control.  They turned you out.”

“And when we got back to earth?”

“Then I happened to catch sight of myself in a looking-glass, and I was scared.  I did not see how you could possibly love me.  A terror came over me that in the Den you must have mistaken me for someone else.  It was a darkish night, you know.”  “You are wanting me to say you are handsome.”

“No, no; I am wanting you to say I am very, very handsome.  Tell me you love me, Grizel, because I am beautiful.”

“Perhaps,” she replied, “I love you because your book is beautiful.”

“Then good-bye for ever,” he said sternly.

“Would not that please you?”

“It would break my heart.”

“But I thought all authors—­”

“It is the commonest mistake in the world.  We are simple creatures, Grizel, and yearn to be loved for our face alone.”

“But I do love the book,” she said, when they became more serious, “because it is part of you.”

“Rather that,” he told her, “than that you should love me because I am part of it.  But it is only a little part of me, Grizel; only the best part.  It is Tommy on tiptoes.  The other part, the part that does not deserve your love, is what needs it most.”

“I am so glad!” she said eagerly.  “I want to think you need me.”

“How I need you!”

“Yes, I think you do—­I am sure you do; and it makes me so happy.”

“Ah,” he said, “now I know why Grizel loves me.”  And perhaps he did know now.  She loved to think that she was more to him than the new book, but was not always sure of it; and sometimes this saddened her, and again she decided that it was right and fitting.  She would hasten to him to say that this saddened her.  She would go just as impulsively to say that she thought it right.