He looked at John for a moment, as if expecting some reply, but the big
Westerner maintained a dogged silence. With a shrug of his shoulders
and without so much as glancing at Laura, Brockton strode to the door
and slammed it shut behind him.

[Illustration: JOHN STOOD LOOKING AT HER IN SILENCE.
_Page 337._]

Madison stood looking at her in silence. There was nothing more to say
or do. The broker was right. He had been a poor fool; he had taken this
woman too seriously. She was no better than all of her kind. Yet it
seemed as if there was something wrong somewhere. It had ended so
differently to what he expected. He would never believe in womankind
again. Slowly he made his way toward the door, while she, her heart
breaking, her face white as death, the hot tears streaming down her
cheeks, stood still, not daring to say a word or make a movement. His
drawn face and haunted eyes looked as though some great grief had
suddenly come into his life, a grief he could not understand. But he
gave her no chance to speak. He seemed to be feeling around for
something to say, some way to get out and away without further delay.
He went towards the door, and with a pitiful gesture of his hand,
seemed to be saying farewell forever. With a stifled sob, she darted
forward.

"John, I----"

He turned and looked at her sternly.

"I'd be careful what I said if I were you. Don't try to make excuses. I
understand."

"It's not excuses," she sobbed. "I want to tell you what's in my heart,
but I can't; it won't speak, and you don't believe my voice."

"You'd better leave it unsaid."

"But I must tell," she cried hysterically. "I can't let you go like
this."

Going over to him, she made a weak attempt to put her arms around him;
but calmly, dispassionately, he took her hands and put them down.
Wildly, pleadingly, she went on:

"I love you! I--how can I tell you--but I do, I do, and you won't
believe me."

He remained silent for a moment, and then taking her by the hand, he
led her over to the chair and placed her in it. He drew back a few
steps, and in a gentle but firm tone, tinged with grief which carried
tremendous conviction with it, he said:

"I think you do as far as you are able; but, Laura, I guess you don't
know what a decent sentiment is. You're not immoral, you're just
unmoral, kind o' all out of shape, and I'm afraid there isn't a
particle of hope for you. When we met neither