ension, "you say
that and you believe it and yet this same instinct of self-martyrdom is
the undertow of your life flood. If your given name didn't happen to be
Conscience your middle name would be just that."

"I suppose I have a conscience of a sort--but a different, sort, I hope.
Is that such a serious fault?" she asked, and because the strain of
these days had tired and rubbed her nerves into the sensitiveness of
exhaustion, she asked it in a hurt and wounded tone.

"It's an indispensable virtue," he declared. "Your father's conscience
was a virtue, too, until it ran amuck and became a savage menace. When
you were a child," he went on, speaking so earnestly that his brow was
drawn into an expression which she mistook for a frown of disapproval,
"your most characteristic quality was an irrepressible sense of humor.
It gave both sparkle and sanity to your outlook. It held you immune to
all bitterness."

"And now?" She put the query somewhat faintly.

"Now, more than ever, because the life around you is grayer, it's vital
that you cling to your golden talisman. To let it go means to be lost in
the fog."

They were strolling along a woodland path and she was a few steps in
advance of him. He saw her shoulders stiffen, but it was not until he
overtook her that he discovered her eyes to be sparkling with tears.

"What is it, dearest?" he contritely demanded, and after a long pause
she said:

"Nothing, except that I feel as if you had slapped me in the face."

"I! Slapped you in the face!" He could only reecho her words in
bewilderment and distress. "I don't understand."

Laying a hand on her arm, he halted her in a place where the setting sun
was spilling streams of yellow light through the woodland aisles and
then her lips trembled; her eyes filled and she pressed both hands over
her face. After a moment she looked up and dashed the tears
contemptuously away.

"No, I know you don't understand, dear. It's my own fault. I'm a weak
little fool," she said, "But it's all gotten horribly on my nerves. I
can't help it."

"For God's sake," he begged, "tell me what I did or said?" And her words
came with a weary resignation.

"I think you had better put me out of your life, Stuart. I've just
realized how things really are--you've told me. I can't go because I'm
chained to the galley. While Father lives my place is here."

She broke off suddenly and his face took on a stunned amazement.

"Out of my life!" exclaim