ferably, he
would have wooed and won in some sequestered spot beautified by nature,
not made hideous by man--was not a woman at all, but a girl; twenty-six
was an ideal age; who had read and studied and thought, and seen all of
the world that a girl decently may. He had dreamed of no man's
leavings, certainly not of a woman who had probably had more than one
lover, and, no doubt, would not take the trouble to deny it. He hated
as much as he loved her and he felt that he would rather kill than
possess her.

It was half an hour after he reached his rooms before he finished
striding up and down; then, with a final anathema, he flung himself
into a chair before his table. At least his brain felt clearer, now
that he had faced the truth. Time enough to wrestle with his problem
when he had won his leisure. If he couldn't switch her off for one
night at least and give his brain its due, he'd despise himself, and
that, he vowed, he'd never do. He wrote steadily until two in the
morning.

XVIII

He awoke at noon. His first impression was that a large black bat was
sitting on his brain. The darkened room seemed to contain a visible
presence of disaster. He sprang out of bed and took a hot and cold
shower; hobgoblins fled, although he felt no inclination to sing! He
called down for his breakfast and opened his hall door. A pile of
letters lay on his newspapers, and the topmost one, in a large envelope,
addressed in a flowing meticulously fine hand, he knew, without
speculation, to be from Madame Zattiany.

He threw back the curtains, settled himself in an armchair, read his
other letters deliberately, and glanced at the headlines of the papers,
before he carefully slit the envelope that had seemed to press his
eyeballs. The time had come for self-discipline, consistently exercised.
Moreover, he was afraid of it. What--why had she written to him? Why
hadn't she telephoned? Was this a tardy dismissal? His breath was short
and his hands shaking as he opened the letter.

It was sufficiently commonplace.

"Dear Mr. Clavering:

"I have been in Atlantic City for a few days getting rid of a cold. I
hope you have not called. Will you dine with me tomorrow night at half
after eight? I shall not ask any one else.

"Sincerely,
"MARIE ZATTIANY."

So her name was Marie. It had struck him once or twice as humorous that
he didn't know the first name of the woman who was demanding his every
waking thou