of other cars picking it out in the
gloom. The saturated ground gave under Norma's feet, the air was soft
and full of the odorous promise of blossom and leaf. A great star was
trembling in the opal sky, which still palpitated, toward the horizon,
with the pale pink and blue of the sunset. Dry branches clicked above
their heads, in a sudden soft puff of breeze.

Norma, as she tucked herself in beside Chris, felt emotionally
exhausted, felt a sudden desperate need for solitude and silence. The
world seemed a lonely and cruel place.

Almost without a word he drove her home, to the old Melrose house, and
came in with her to the long, dim drawing-room for a brief good-night.
He had not kissed her more than two or three times since the memorable
night of the dress rehearsal, but he kissed her to-night, and Norma felt
something solemn, something renunciatory, in the kiss.

They had but an unsatisfactory two or three minutes together; Mrs.
Melrose might descend upon them at any second, was indeed audible in the
hall when Chris said suddenly:

"You are not as brave--as your mother, Norma!"

She met his eyes with something like terror in her own; standing still,
a few feet away from him, with her breath coming and going stormily.

"No," she said in a sharp whisper. "Not _that_!"

A moment later she was flying upstairs, her blue eyes still dilated with
fright, her face pale, and her senses rocking. Unseeing, unhearing, she
reached her own room, paced it distractedly, moving between desk and
dressing-table, window and bed, like some bewildered animal. Sometimes
she put her two hands over her face, the spread fingers pressed against
her forehead. Sometimes she stood perfectly still, arms hanging at her
sides, eyes blankly staring ahead. Once she dropped on her knees beside
the bed, and buried her burning cheeks against the delicate linen and
embroideries.

Regina came in; Norma made a desperate attempt to control herself. She
saw a gown laid on the bed, heard bath water running, faced her own
haggard self in the mirror, as she began dressing. But when the maid was
gone, and Norma, somewhat pale, but quite self-possessed again, was
dressed for dinner, she lifted from its place on her book-shelf a little
picture of Chris and herself, taken the summer before, and studied it
with sorrowful eyes.

He had been teaching her to ride, and Norma was radiant and sun-browned
in her riding-trousers and skirted coat, her cloud of hair