ry nerve of her body
grew tense; she only just fought down the impulse to snatch her hands
away and shriek at him.

She sat rigid, her teeth set, her eyes closed, until her real self got
some control over the monstrous, crazy creature raving within her. Then
she said: "Please don't--touch me--just now. I've been on such a
strain--and I'm almost breaking down."

He drew his hand away. "I ought to have understood," he said. "Would you
like to be left alone for a while?"

Without waiting for her answer, he left the compartment to her. She
locked the door and let herself loose. When she had had her cry "out,"
she felt calm; but oh, so utterly depressed. "This is only a mood," she
said to herself. "I don't really feel that way toward him. Still--I've
made a miserable mistake. I ought not to have married him. I must hide
it. I mustn't make him suffer for what's altogether my own fault. I must
make the best of it."

When he came back, she proceeded to put her programme into action. All
the afternoon he strove with her sweet gentleness and exaggerated
consideration for him; he tried to make her see that there was no
necessity for this elaborate pose and pretense. But she was too absorbed
in her part to heed him. In the evening, soon after they returned to the
compartment from the dining car, he rose. "I am going out to smoke," he
said. "I'll tell the porter to make up your berth. You must be very
tired. I have taken another--out in the car--so that you will not be
disturbed."

She grew white, and a timid, terrified look came into her eyes.

He touched her shoulder--gently. "Don't--please!" he said quietly. "In
all the years we've known each other, have you ever seen anything in me
to make you feel--like--that?"

Her head drooped still lower, and her face became crimson.

"Adelaide, look at me!"

She lifted her eyes until they met his uncertainly.

He put out his hand. "We are friends, aren't we?"

She instantly laid her hand in his.

"Friends," he repeated. "Let us hold fast to that--and let the rest take
care of itself."

"I'm ashamed of myself," said she. And in her swift revulsion of
feeling there was again opportunity for him. But he was not in the mood
to see it.

"You certainly ought to be," replied he, with his frank smile that was so
full of the suggestions of health and sanity and good humor. "You'll
never get a martyr's crown at _my_ expense."

At New York he rearranged their steamer accommodations