y had she come into his life--to her undoing, and his own? And the
bizarre thought came to him: If she were dead should I really care?
Should I not be almost glad? If she were dead her witchery would be
dead, and I could stand up straight again and look people in the face!
What was this power that played with men, darted into them, twisted their
hearts to rags; this power that had looked through her eyes when she put
her fan, with his flowers, to her lips?

The thrumming of the music ceased; he walked away.

It must have been nearly twelve when he reached home. Now, once more,
would begin the gruesome process of deception--flinching of soul, and
brazening of visage. It would be better when the whole thievish business
was irretrievably begun and ordered in its secret courses!

There was no light in the drawing-room, save just the glow of the fire.
If only Sylvia might have gone to bed! Then he saw her, sitting
motionless out there by the uncurtained window.

He went over to her, and began his hateful formula:

"I'm afraid you've been lonely. I had to stay rather late. A dull
evening." And, since she did not move or answer, but just sat there very
still and white, he forced himself to go close, bend down to her, touch
her cheek; even to kneel beside her. She looked round then; her face was
quiet enough, but her eyes were strangely eager. With a pitiful little
smile she broke out:

"Oh, Mark! What is it--what is it? Anything is better than this!"

Perhaps it was the smile, perhaps her voice or eyes--but something gave
way in Lennan. Secrecy, precaution went by the board. Bowing his head
against her breast, he poured it all out, while they clung, clutched
together in the half dark like two frightened children. Only when he had
finished did he realize that if she had pushed him away, refused to let
him touch her, it would have been far less piteous, far easier to bear,
than her wan face and her hands clutching him, and her words: "I never
thought--you and I--oh! Mark--you and I--" The trust in their life
together, in himself, that those words revealed! Yet, not greater than
he had had--still had! She could not understand--he had known that she
could never understand; it was why he had fought so for secrecy, all
through. She was taking it as if she had lost everything; and in his
mind she had lost nothing. This passion, this craving for Youth and
Life, this madness--call it what one would--was somet