Selene could cry frankly, with choking
sobs and great tears like any other woman. It was a most discomfortable
revelation. Like all men he hated tears--but these especial tears in
addition to disconcerting him made him feel a blunderer, a sorry fool.
They set him in a darkness of confused wonder, where he felt like a
chastised child in a cupboard.

But Sophy stopped crying almost at once.

"Morris, dear," she said, "you know I told you I was deadly tired.... I
really am too tired to talk to-night-- I feel almost ill, I'm so weary.
But to-morrow I'll say everything that's in my heart.... Go to bed now,
will you, like a kind darling? I ... I'm better alone when ... when I
feel like this."

Loring looked at her, then down at the hearth-rug. His lips pursed.

"You'll clear this up for me to-morrow?" he asked in a sullen voice.

"Yes, dear-- I promise."

"All right, then. Sorry you feel so seedy."

He went towards the door. Before he reached it his gorge rose with
wounded pride and bewildered indignation. He turned his head as he went
out.

"Sorry I've been guilty of blasphemy...." he said. "Loving a goddess is
rather steep work at times...."

He went out, his eyes hard and resentful.

Sophy sank into her chair again. She sat looking into the fire. She
remembered how they had sat hand in hand, after their first kiss,
looking into another fire only a few months ago.

But this was whiskey, she reminded herself--only whiskey. She must prove
to him and herself that she was stronger than a mere appetite. But as
she sat there staring at the fire, it was Cecil that she thought of,
more than Loring. How terrible and fatal it seemed that, twice over, she
should be the rival of such things with those she loved. For her sake
Cecil had set himself to conquer. Then death had taken him. But before
he had died he had killed her highest love for him....

The next day they had a full talk together. He was in a very gentle,
penitent humour. He said that he understood just how she had felt.

He was on his knees by her chair, in his favourite attitude, holding her
waist with both arms.

She bent towards him. Her heart was very glad within her. She took his
face between her hands and kissed him on the eyes.

"You see, dearest," she said, "I'm a very faithful wife. I'm Morris
Loring's wife and I won't be made love to by"--she looked straight into
the eyes that she had just kissed--"by John Barleycorn," she ended,
smiling, to ea