y a library window,
and brooded over this unexpected and unwelcome turn of events, viewing
from all angles this new blow to his pride. He did not believe her
protestations of a change of heart, nothing in his life tended to make
such a belief easy. But her coldness and stubbornness hurt him and upset
the plans he had been allowing to form of late in his mind.

All his life he had been following, with sunny adaptability, the line of
the least resistance. Thrown out of his groove by the jealousy and
resentment of the dark time in his married life, Jim had realized
himself as fairly cornered by Fate, and had run away from the whole
situation rather than own himself beaten. Rather than admit that he must
patiently accept what was so galling to his pride, he had seized upon
any alternative, paid any price.

And Germany had not been at all unpleasant. There was novelty in every
phase of his home and public life; there was his work; and, for at least
the first year, there was the balm for his conscience that he would soon
be going home to Julia. He had allowed himself the luxury of moods, was
angry with her, was scornful, was forgiving. He showed new friends her
beautiful pictures--told them that she was prettier than that, no
picture could do justice to her colour.

Among the new friends there had been two sweet plain Englishwomen: the
widowed Lady Eileen Hungerford, and her sister, the Honourable Phyllis.
These had found the rich young American doctor charming, and without a
definite word or look had managed to convey to him the assurance of
their warmest sympathy. They could only guess at his domestic troubles,
but a hundred little half allusions and significant looks lent spice to
the friendship, and Jim became a great favourite in the delightful
circle the Englishwomen had drawn about them.

The midsummer vacation was spent, with another doctor, in Norway, and in
September Jim went for a week or two to London, where Eileen and
Phyllis, delicately considerate of the possible claims of the unknown
wife, nevertheless persuaded him that he would be mad to decline the
offer of the big German hospital. So back to Berlin he went, and in this
second winter met old Professor Sturmer, and Senta, his wife.

Senta was a Russian, the tiniest of women, wild, beautiful, nineteen.
She was a most dramatic and appealing little figure, and she knew it
well. She smoked and drank just as the young men of her set did, she
danced like a ma