owly retreated a few steps towards the door,
then suddenly turned and fled, leaving no answer.

With her going, Flavia's passion died, something like fear taking its
place. That was what Corrie had felt, reflected Corrie's sister; a sweep
of flame-like anger that blinded judgment, a slipping of self-mastery
that loosed hand or tongue. Only, she had not wanted to hurt Isabel,
that was a point she could not conceive reaching, herself.

When she had somewhat recovered, Flavia went to find her furs and
outdoor apparel. She knew where Corrie had gone; she would meet him and
herself break the tidings of his cousin's coming departure. He would be
walking; he had not touched an automobile since he left the seat of his
pink racer to rescue Gerard from beneath the crushed Mercury, and he had
no patience with horses.

It was on a bleak, sandy stretch of Long Island road that she met
Corrie, a solitary figure against the flat landscape as he came towards
her. At sight of her little carriage and the cream-colored ponies he
himself long before had taught her to drive, he stopped, his boyish
face brightening warmly.

"Other Fellow," was all he said, when she leaned towards him with her
unaltering love of glance and smile.

There was no need to ask where he had been.

"How is Mr. Gerard, dear?" she ventured, after he was seated beside her
and they had commenced the return.

"Better."

"You go there every day to ask?"

"Every day."

"And, he----"

"He has seen me every day, even the worst. He talks about politics, the
aviation meet, the motor magazines,--about everything except himself or
me. It is his right arm, now, the other hurts are almost well. To-day I
met the doctor, going out as I was coming in. I asked about him----"

Flavia raised her eyes to meet his, shrinking from the verdict that
speech must establish beyond the refuge of doubt. Very gently he laid
his hand over hers upon the reins and brought the ponies to a
standstill.

"Do you remember this place, Flavia? Well, all that is over for him."

Beside them sloped away a brown, frost-seared field; in its centre still
showed the outline of a baseball diamond, with the bags forgotten at the
bases. Flavia's heart contracted sharply, the reins escaped her grasp.
For the moment memory and vision fused; she saw the straight, slender
pitcher poised with arms raised above his brown head, saw his laughing
glance go questing down the field, and the swift, graceful mov