was it! No wonder
Carlotta had hated her. And those whispering voices! What were they
saying? How hateful life was, and men and women. Must there always be
something hideous in the background? Until now she had only seen life.
Now she felt its hot breath on her cheek.

She was steady enough in a moment, cool and calm, moving about her work
with ice-cold hands and slightly narrowed eyes. To a sort of physical
nausea was succeeding anger, a blind fury of injured pride. He had been
in love with Carlotta and had tired of her. He was bringing her his
warmed-over emotions. She remembered the bitterness of her month's
exile, and its probable cause. Max had stood by her then. Well he might,
if he suspected the truth.

For just a moment she had an illuminating flash of Wilson as he really
was, selfish and self-indulgent, just a trifle too carefully dressed,
daring as to eye and speech, with a carefully calculated daring, frankly
pleasure-loving. She put her hands over her eyes.

The voices in the next room had risen above their whisper.

"Genius has privileges, of course," said the older voice. "He is a very
great surgeon. To-morrow he is to do the Edwardes operation again. I am
glad I am to see him do it."

Sidney still held her hands over her eyes. He WAS a great surgeon: in
his hands he held the keys of life and death. And perhaps he had never
cared for Carlotta: she might have thrown herself at him. He was a man,
at the mercy of any scheming woman.

She tried to summon his image to her aid. But a curious thing happened.
She could not visualize him. Instead, there came, clear and distinct, a
picture of K. Le Moyne in the hall of the little house, reaching one of
his long arms to the chandelier over his head and looking up at her as
she stood on the stairs.

CHAPTER XXII

"My God, Sidney, I'm asking you to marry me!"

"I--I know that. I am asking you something else, Max."

"I have never been in love with her."

His voice was sulky. He had drawn the car close to a bank, and they were
sitting in the shade, on the grass. It was the Sunday afternoon after
Sidney's experience in the operating-room.

"You took her out, Max, didn't you?"

"A few times, yes. She seemed to have no friends. I was sorry for her."

"That was all?"

"Absolutely. Good Heavens, you've put me through a catechism in the last
ten minutes!"

"If my father were living, or even mother, I--one of them would have
done this for me, Max. I