and faltered. Mary would not die alone. With her would
die this newborn comradeship. And Desire's smile, though insufferable,
was sweet. How would it feel to see that bright look change and pale to
cold dislike? Already in imagination he shivered under the frozen anger
of that frank glance.

He could not risk it!

Should he then, ignoring Mary, ascribe his symptoms to their true
cause? By dragging out the horror of that moonlit night, he could
account for any vagary of nerves. But that way of escape was equally
impossible. He could not let that shadow fall across her path of
new-found freedom. Nor would he, in any case, gain much by such
postponement. The wretched professor began to realize that the devil is
indeed the father of lies and that he who sups with him needs a long
spoon.

Meanwhile, Desire was waiting.

He felt that he would like to shake her--sitting there with untroubled
air and face like an inquiring sphinx--to shake her and kiss her and
tell her that there wasn't any Mary and--he brought himself up with a
start. What nonsense was this!

"Look here," he said irritably, "you are all wrong. You really are.
It's perfectly true I've been feeling groggy. But there doesn't have to
be a reason for that, unfortunately. Old Bones warned me that I might
expect all kinds of come-backs. But I'm almost right again now. Another
day or two of this heavenly place and I shan't know that I have a
nerve."

"Yes," critically. "You are better. I should say that the worst was
over."

"I'm sure it is. Supposing we leave it at that."

Desire smiled her shadowy smile. "Very well. But I wanted you to know
that I understand. It's so silly to go on pretending not to see, when
one does see. And it's only natural that things should seem more
poignant for a time. Only you will recover much more quickly if you
adopt a sensible attitude. I do not say, 'do not think of Mary,' I say
'think of her openly.'"

"How," said Spence, "does one think openly?"

"One talks."

"You wish me to talk of Mary?"

"It will be so good for you!" warmly.

They looked for a moment into each other's eyes. And Spence was
conscious of a second shock. Was there, was there the faintest glint of
something which was not all sympathy in those grey depths of hers?
Before his conscious mind had even formulated the question, his other
mind had asked and answered it, and, with the lightning speed of the
subconscious, had acted. The professor became awar