le hands around his arm.
"Corrie, it is hurting you so! I love you, let me come."

Under the soft hall-lights he turned to her, blue eyes meeting blue
eyes; then for the first time in their lives he took her in his arms
with a man's touch and kissed her.

"You stick close, Other Fellow," he said unsteadily. "I'm pretty
lonesome; you're a help. But don't come now."

Pretty lonesome. Yes, that expressed the atmosphere of aloofness, the
air of being suddenly walled around and set apart, that now marked the
impulsive and social Corrie. It was with him when he came down to the
dreary dinner, an hour later.

The one who failed to play out the wretched farce of customary life was
Isabel. She kept her room, alleging illness, and did not appear to lend
aid to the evening which the three spent in silent endurance of one
another and their own thoughts. The very surroundings insisted on the
image of Gerard; a book he had been reading lay open on the table, the
music he preferred was waiting on the piano rack. At nine o'clock,
unable to bear more, Flavia rose, hurriedly pleading fatigue. Corrie
also rose with her to retire, or to escape.

"Wait," his father bade, at his movement, laying down a newspaper. "You
will not be out with your automobile, to-morrow."

Corrie looked at him without rebellion or surprise, unflinching from the
decision.

"I shall never drive a racing car again, sir," was his quiet statement.

And only Gerard could have gauged what that renunciation cost his
fellow-driver.

Gerard, at that hour, was not conscious of many things. The night that
was long at the rose-colored villa, was longer yet in the little
farmhouse. But when the first pale light of dawn made the parlor windows
grow into glimmering squares of gray, the patient suddenly spoke out of
what was rather stupor than sleep.

"'And the greatest of these is charity?'" he said strongly and clearly.

The nurse hurried to his side, but it was many moments before he again
aroused and asked for Rupert.

"Now, and alone," he insisted, when she demurred, urging rest.

Even in his helplessness he was compelling. The nurse went in search of
Rupert, who had kept vigil in the kitchen, scoffing at the suggestion of
bed while that battle was being waged in the other room.

Gerard turned his fever-burnished eyes upon his small mechanician's
sullen face, when that visitor entered. Both men understood perfectly
well the contest of wills about to ensue. B