y bit of poor comedy that had
tinged the days of the tour. And as she talked the man laughed with
sheer delight and amusement.

But it was growing late, and Marcia was exhausted with the outflow of
spirits. He might be comforted, but tomorrow she must again take up the
dull thread of her routine. It would not be easier for tonight's
disappointment; for the coming of the rescuing knight who upon arrival
had only clamored mournfully for assistance.

After all she could only stand so much, and just now she felt that the
margin of endurance was narrow. Yet there was to be said the most
important thing of all, and the most trying.

"Paul," she began slowly, but in a voice of finality, "when you go back
tomorrow, you mustn't come to see me again. At least not for a long
while."

His face became a mask of tragic disappointment, and his voice was
pleading.

"You are not going to reinstate your sentence of banishment, Marcia? You
can't know what this evening has meant to me. A man must have in his
life that comfort that only a woman like you can give. Surely you will
give it."

"But, Paul," she said as gently as she would have argued with a child,
"you must remember. There is a woman: a woman to whom you regard
yourself pledged. Are you being very loyal to her? Are you being very
loyal to either of us?"

To herself she added: "A woman whom I have never seen and whose battles
I am called upon to fight."

"She's in Europe." Paul spoke rather sullenly, and though he said no
more his voice intimated that so far as he was concerned she might
remain there.

Marcia nodded her bend. "She is there to get a divorce--so that she can
marry you. No, Paul, you know why I sent you away in the first place.
Since then nothing has changed--unless it is that I see more clearly the
fatality of drifting. I can't do it."

"And you--" he spoke somewhat brokenly--"doesn't it mean anything to
you?"

Suddenly and momentarily her self-restraint broke.

"Mean anything to me!" she exclaimed passionately as her eyes widened
and her whole attitude relaxed into a posture of collapse in her chair.
"Mean anything--!" Then suddenly she straightened up and passed a hand
across her brow as though to brush away a cloud that rested there. In a
composed voice she added: "It means so much that you must do as I say,
not merely until you feel like disobeying again, but always." After a
long silence she rose. "I must get up early," she said, remembering t