out ceasing; but it should be
noted that she frowns over the whist and reserves her smiles for her
more garrulous interludes.

Lorimer, as he stepped across the threshold, felt a sudden longing to
retreat. He had forgotten both the whist and the interlude, that
afternoon, and he felt no inclination to exchange verbal inanities with
a group of women of whom several had been at the Lloyd Avalons supper,
the night before. All of them, he was convinced, had heard of the
incident, and were covertly eying Beatrix to see whether she looked as
if she had slept well. His theory was justified by the fact that, for
the first time that season, not a substitute had been present.

Beatrix rose from the tea table, as he crossed the room towards her. Her
manner was a shade more alert than usual; but her eyes, half-circled in
heavy shadows, drooped before his eyes, as she gave him her hand. He
felt her fingers shake a little, and he could see the color die out of
her cheeks. Otherwise, there was nothing to mark their meeting as in any
way differing from any other meeting in the past. He greeted the other
women, accepted his cup of tea and took up his share of the burden of
conversation with apparent nonchalance.

The nonchalance was only apparent, however. Lorimer had sought Beatrix,
that day, much in the mood in which the naughty boy turns his back to
receive his allotted caning. The bad half-hour was bound to come; it was
best to have it over as soon as possible. Lorimer had gone to bed, the
night before, in a state of maudlin cheeriness. He had wakened, that
morning, feeling a heavy weight in his head and a heavier one on his
conscience. He had an unnecessarily clear recollection of Beatrix's face
as it had looked to him, the one sharply-outlined fact across a misty
distance peopled with vague shadows. The eyes had been hurt and angry;
but the lips showed only loving disappointment. All the morning long, he
had pondered upon the matter; but by noon he had made his decision. The
meeting was inevitable, so what was the use of trying to put it off?

"Well, Sidney?" Beatrix said steadily, as soon as the last guest had
made her nervous, chattering exit.

With some degree of care, he had prepared his defensive argument; but it
had lost all its force and fervor by reason of the half-hour spent in
the roomful of women. Now he made a hasty effort to reconstruct it, and
failed.

"I am sorry," he said, with simple humility.

Unconscious