said she. She felt that he would think this curtness
ungracious, but more she could not say.

He was gone four days. When he reappeared at the office he was
bronzed, but under the bronze showed fatigue--in a man of his youth and
strength sure sign of much worry and loss of sleep. He greeted her
almost awkwardly, his eyes avoiding hers, and sat down to opening his
accumulated mail. Although she was furtively observing him she started
when he abruptly said:

"You know you are free to go--at any time."

"I'll wait until you catch up with your work," she suggested.

"No--never mind. I'll get along. I've kept you out of all reason....
The sooner you go the better. I've got to get used to it, and--I hate
suspense."

"Then I'll go in the morning," said Selma. "I've no arrangements to
make--except a little packing that'll take less than an hour. Will you
say good-by for me to any one who asks? I hate fusses, and I'll be back
here from time to time."

He looked at her curiously, started to speak, changed his mind and
resumed reading the letter in his hand. She turned to her work, sat
pretending to write. In fact she was simply scribbling. Her eyes were
burning and she was fighting against the sobs that came surging. He
rose and began to walk up and down the room. She hastily crumpled and
flung away the sheet on which she had be scrawling; he might happen to
glance at her desk and see. She bent closer to the paper and began to
write--anything that came into her head. Presently the sound of his
step ceased. An uncontrollable impulse to fly seized her. She would
get up--would not put on her hat--would act as if she were simply going
to the street door for a moment. And she would not return--would
escape the danger of a silly breakdown. She summoned all her courage,
suddenly rose and moved swiftly toward the door. At the threshold she
had to pause; she could not control her heart from a last look at him.

He was seated at his table, was staring at its litter of letters,
papers and manuscripts with an expression so sad that it completely
transformed him. She forgot herself. She said softly:

"Victor!"

He did not hear.

"Victor," she repeated a little more loudly.

He roused himself, glanced at her with an attempt at his usual friendly
smile of the eyes.

"Is there something wrong that you haven't told me about?" she asked.

"It'll pass," said he. "I'll get used to it." With an attempt at the