closed it. Then he went to the door. He stood with it in his
hand, staring at her as though just waked.

"May I come in?" she said very low. "I--I want to talk with you."

He was still too overcome to speak. Silently he stepped aside, drawing
the door with him. She entered quickly, her head a little bent, her
hands clasped nervously in front of her. The weather was still very
warm; she had come from the nursery, and wore a long peignoir of white
muslin. The soft, straight folds made her seem taller than ever. Her
bent head contradicted the haughtiness of her body. It was as if she
wanted to command a mood of gentleness by forcing its physical
semblance.

"Will you sit here?" asked Chesney. His voice shook.

"Thanks...." she murmured, and took the chair that he pushed forward.

She didn't seem able to say what she had come for. She sat silent so
long that he felt forced to speak.

"Is ... is Bobby all right?" he faltered.

The colour streamed across her cheek at these words, as though he had
struck her.

"Forgive me," he said humbly. "I.... I really care, you know."

"He is better," she managed to reply. Her lips moved stiffly. Then she
lifted her head with a sort of desperation of resolve. Her eyes fixed on
his.

"Cecil...." she said, "I've come ... one, last time...." She broke off;
then went on: "This one, last time," she repeated, "to see if you ... if
we ... if together...." Again words failed her. Looking firmly at him,
she ended more quietly: "I've come to beg you to tell me the truth," she
said, and her dark eyes rested on him full of doubt and pain.

He could scarcely have grown paler, but his head drooped; he sat looking
down at his great hands which he clasped and unclasped nervously.

"Well...." she whispered finally. "Will you?.... It's our last ... last
chance."

With difficulty he articulated, "Try me."

"Then ..." she went on, after a slight pause, still whispering, "are you
... taking morphine again?"

There was no pause before his answer.

"Yes," he said, his face still drooped away from her.

She caught one hand to her breast. She could not believe her own ears.
Had he said "Yes" at once--simply--outright like that, to such a
question? Something fine and brave in her throbbed response to that
unequivocal "Yes."

"Cecil...." she said.

All at once he tossed up his hands to his bent face. His great figure,
huddled on the little chair, began shaking from head to foot.

"Oh, my Go