"Yes, yes," he interrupted nervously.

Nothing was known about Haskett in New York. He was vaguely supposed to
have remained in the outer darkness from which his wife had been
rescued, and Waythorn was one of the few who were aware that he had
given up his business in Utica and followed her to New York in order to
be near his little girl. In the days of his wooing, Waythorn had often
met Lily on the doorstep, rosy and smiling, on her way "to see papa."

"I am so sorry," Mrs. Waythorn murmured.

He roused himself. "What does he want?"

"He wants to see her. You know she goes to him once a week."

"Well--he doesn't expect her to go to him now, does he?"

"No--he has heard of her illness; but he expects to come here."

"_Here?_"

Mrs. Waythorn reddened under his gaze. They looked away from each other.

"I'm afraid he has the right....You'll see...." She made a proffer of
the letter.

Waythorn moved away with a gesture of refusal. He stood staring about
the softly lighted room, which a moment before had seemed so full of
bridal intimacy.

"I'm so sorry," she repeated. "If Lily could have been moved--"

"That's out of the question," he returned impatiently.

"I suppose so."

Her lip was beginning to tremble, and he felt himself a brute.

"He must come, of course," he said. "When is--his day?"

"I'm afraid--to-morrow."

"Very well. Send a note in the morning."

The butler entered to announce dinner.

Waythorn turned to his wife. "Come--you must be tired. It's beastly,
but try to forget about it," he said, drawing her hand through his arm.

"You're so good, dear. I'll try," she whispered back.

Her face cleared at once, and as she looked at him across the flowers,
between the rosy candle-shades, he saw her lips waver back into a smile.

"How pretty everything is!" she sighed luxuriously.

He turned to the butler. "The champagne at once, please. Mrs. Waythorn
is tired."

In a moment or two their eyes met above the sparkling glasses. Her own
were quite clear and untroubled: he saw that she had obeyed his
injunction and forgotten.

Waythorn moved away with a gesture of refusal

II

A small effaced-looking man.

WAYTHORN, the next morning, went down town earlier than usual. Haskett
was not likely to come till the afternoon, but the instinct of flight
drove him forth. He meant to stay away all day--he had thoughts of
dining at his club. As his door closed behind him he reflected that
before he