only
clue he had was the thing she said about sentimentalists, and the
tragedies they caused. More tragedies than malice was responsible for.
He thought she was probably right about that. It was some such tragedy
anyhow, ludicrous, unendurable, that had driven her to this acquiescence
in defeat.

He said, in as even a tone as he could manage, "I asked about trains
because I wondered whether there was anything to hurry you to-night.
Packing to do or such a matter; or whether we mightn't have a really
leisurely visit. I haven't much idea what time it is except that I don't
think I've eaten anything since around the middle of the day. Have you?
If you'd stay and have supper with me ... But I suppose you're expected
somewhere else."

She smiled ironically at this, then laughed at herself. "It happens
rather funnily that I haven't been so little expected or looked after,
since I came home from New York, as I am to-night. I'm not--in a hurry at
all. I'll stay as long as you like."

"Is that a promise?" he asked. "As long as I liked would be a long
while."

"I'll stay," she said, "as long as I can see I'm making you happy. When I
find myself beginning to be a--torment to you, I shall--vanish."

He was almost overmastered by the temptation to forget everything except
his love for her; to let himself be persuaded that his ghastly surmise
was a product of his own fatigue and sleepless nights. Even supposing
there were a basis for it, could he not keep her safe by just holding her
fast in his arms?

He dashed the thought out of his mind. She would surrender to his
embrace, how eagerly he already knew. For a matter of moments, for a few
swift hours she might forget. She had perhaps come to him meaning to
forget for a while in just that way. But no embrace could be eternal.
He'd have to let her go at last and nothing would be changed save that
she would have a memory of him to take with her into her long sleep.

No, love must wait. That obscure unendurable nightmare tragedy of hers
must be brought out into the light first and shorn of its horrors.

So he managed for the moment a lighter note. He would not let her help in
the preparation of the meager little meal which was all that his
immediate resources ran to. He hadn't quite realized how exiguous it was
going to be when he spoke of it as supper. It was nothing but a slice of
Swiss cheese, a fresh carton of biscuits and a flagon of so-called
Chianti illicitly procured f