inking
heart. He meant this to be their leave-taking, then--and he had not
even asked her when she was to be married, or spoken of seeing her again
before she set out for the other side of the world.

"Owen!" she cried, and turned back.

He stood mutely before her in the dimness.

"You haven't told me how long you're to be gone."

"How long? Oh, you see...that's rather vague...I hate definite dates,
you know..."

He paused and she saw he did not mean to help her out. She tried to say:
"You'll be here for my wedding?" but could not bring the words to her
lips. Instead she murmured: "In six weeks I shall be going too..." and
he rejoined, as if he had expected the announcement and prepared his
answer: "Oh, by that time, very likely..."

"At any rate, I won't say good-bye," she stammered, feeling the tears
beneath her veil.

"No, no; rather not!" he declared; but he made no movement, and she went
up and threw her arms about him. "You'll write me, won't you?"

"Of course, of course----"

Her hands slipped down into his, and for a minute they held each other
dumbly in the darkness; then he gave a vague laugh and said: "It's
really time to light up." He pressed the electric button with one hand
while with the other he opened the door; and she passed out without
daring to turn back, lest the light on his face should show her what she
feared to see.

XXXVIII

Anna drove to the chemist's for Owen's remedy. On the way she stopped
her cab at a book-shop, and emerged from it laden with literature. She
knew what would interest Owen, and what he was likely to have read,
and she had made her choice among the newest publications with the
promptness of a discriminating reader. But on the way back to the hotel
she was overcome by the irony of adding this mental panacea to the
other. There was something grotesque and almost mocking in the idea of
offering a judicious selection of literature to a man setting out on
such a journey. "He knows...he knows..." she kept on repeating; and
giving the porter the parcel from the chemist's she drove away without
leaving the books. She went to her apartment, whither her maid had
preceded her. There was a fire in the drawing-room and the tea-table
stood ready by the hearth. The stormy rain beat against the uncurtained
windows, and she thought of Owen, who would soon be driving through it
to the station, alone with his bitter thoughts. She had been proud of
the fact that he had alw