, unhappy,
confused.

"Don't mind me. I'm a fool," he said shortly, looking away from
her--"and a very--unhappy one--"

"Clive!"

He said savagely: "I tell you I don't know what's the matter with
me--" He passed one hand brusquely across his eyes and stood so,
scowling at the hearth where Hafiz sat, staring gravely back at him.

"Clive, are you ill?"

He shrugged away the suggestion, and his arm brushed against hers. The
contact seemed to paralyse him; but when, slipping back unconsciously
into the old informalities, she laid her hands on his shoulders and
turned him toward the light, instantly and too late she was aware that
the old and innocent intimacy was ended, done for,--a thing of the
past.

Incredulous still in the very menace of new and perilous relations--of
a new intimacy, imminent, threatening, she withdrew her hands from
the shoulders of this man who had been a boy but an instant ago. And
the next moment he caught her in his arms.

"Clive! You _can't_ do this!" she whispered, deathly white.

"What am I to do?" he retorted fiercely.

"Not this, Clive!--For my sake--please--_please_--"

There was colour enough in her face, now. Breathless, still a little
frightened, she looked away from him, plucking nervously,
instinctively, at his hands clasping her waist.

"Can't you c-care for me, Athalie?" he stammered.

"Yes ... you know it. But don't touch me, Clive--"

"When I'm--in love--with you--"

She caught her breath sharply.

"--What am I to do?" he repeated between his teeth.

"Nothing! There is nothing to do about it! You know it!... What is
there to do?"

He held her closer and she strained away from him, her head still
averted.

"Let me go, Clive!" she pleaded.

"Can't you care for me!"

"Let me go!"

He said under his breath: "All right." And released her. For a moment
she did not move but her hands covered her burning face and sealed her
lids. She stood there, breathing fast and irregularly until she heard
him move. Then, lowering her hands she cast a heart-broken glance at
him. And his ashen, haggard visage terrified her.

"Clive!" she faltered: he swung on his heel and caught her to him
again.

She offered no resistance.

She was crying, now,--weeping perhaps for all that had been said--or
remained unsaid--or maybe for all that could never be said between
herself and this man in whose arms she was trembling. No need now for
any further understanding, for excuses, for r