somewhere." He waited, but she did
not look up or lift her head, still sunk on her hand.

Her handkerchief had fallen. Fred picked it up and put it on her knee,
pressing her fingers over it. "Good-night, dear and wonderful," he
whispered,--"wonderful and dear! How can you ever get away from me when
I will always follow you, through every wall, through every door,
wherever you go." He looked down at her bent head, and the curve of her
neck that was so sad. He stooped, and with his lips just touched her
hair where the firelight made it ruddiest. "I didn't know I had it in
me, Thea. I thought it was all a fairy tale. I don't know myself any
more." He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "The salt's all gone out
of your hair. It's full of sun and wind again. I believe it has
memories." Again she heard him take a deep breath. "I could do without
you for a lifetime, if that would give you to yourself. A woman like you
doesn't find herself, alone."

She thrust her free hand up to him. He kissed it softly, as if she were
asleep and he were afraid of waking her.

From the door he turned back irrelevantly. "As to your old friend, Thea,
if he's to be here on Friday, why,"--he snatched out his watch and held
it down to catch the light from the grate,--"he's on the train now! That
ought to cheer you. Good-night." She heard the door close.

III

ON Friday afternoon Thea Kronborg was walking excitedly up and down her
sitting-room, which at that hour was flooded by thin, clear sunshine.
Both windows were open, and the fire in the grate was low, for the day
was one of those false springs that sometimes blow into New York from
the sea in the middle of winter, soft, warm, with a persuasive salty
moisture in the air and a relaxing thaw under foot. Thea was flushed and
animated, and she seemed as restless as the sooty sparrows that chirped
and cheeped distractingly about the windows. She kept looking at the
black clock, and then down into the Square. The room was full of
flowers, and she stopped now and then to arrange them or to move them
into the sunlight. After the bellboy came to announce a visitor, she
took some Roman hyacinths from a glass and stuck them in the front of
her dark-blue dress.

When at last Fred Ottenburg appeared in the doorway, she met him with an
exclamation of pleasure. "I am glad you've come, Fred. I was afraid you
might not get my note, and I wanted to see you before you see Dr.
Archie. He's so nice!"