ake, be a traitor to all that made that earlier treason."

She stood before him, with shining eyes.

"I am waiting, Martin," she whispered, "waiting for you to accept me.
Look at me."

It was splendid, he thought, looking at her. She had redeemed herself
for all that she had lacked, rising up at last, true woman, superior to
the iron rule of bourgeois convention. It was splendid, magnificent,
desperate. And yet, what was the matter with him? He was not thrilled
nor stirred by what she had done. It was splendid and magnificent only
intellectually. In what should have been a moment of fire, he coldly
appraised her. His heart was untouched. He was unaware of any desire
for her. Again he remembered Lizzie's words.

"I am sick, very sick," he said with a despairing gesture. "How sick I
did not know till now. Something has gone out of me. I have always been
unafraid of life, but I never dreamed of being sated with life. Life has
so filled me that I am empty of any desire for anything. If there were
room, I should want you, now. You see how sick I am."

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes; and like a child, crying,
that forgets its grief in watching the sunlight percolate through the
tear-dimmed films over the pupils, so Martin forgot his sickness, the
presence of Ruth, everything, in watching the masses of vegetation, shot
through hotly with sunshine that took form and blazed against this
background of his eyelids. It was not restful, that green foliage. The
sunlight was too raw and glaring. It hurt him to look at it, and yet he
looked, he knew not why.

He was brought back to himself by the rattle of the door-knob. Ruth was
at the door.

"How shall I get out?" she questioned tearfully. "I am afraid."

"Oh, forgive me," he cried, springing to his feet. "I'm not myself, you
know. I forgot you were here." He put his hand to his head. "You see,
I'm not just right. I'll take you home. We can go out by the servants'
entrance. No one will see us. Pull down that veil and everything will
be all right."

She clung to his arm through the dim-lighted passages and down the narrow
stairs.

"I am safe now," she said, when they emerged on the sidewalk, at the same
time starting to take her hand from his arm.

"No, no, I'll see you home," he answered.

"No, please don't," she objected. "It is unnecessary."

Again she started to remove her hand. He felt a momentary curiosity. Now
that she