fic
details--but in a way that made him feel as if he, as part of the world
that had hurt her, were partly responsible. And to want exceedingly to
help. And then the only way he could think of helping was to put himself
like kindling into the firelight, and he mustn't do that. "Elinor" he
said under his breath like an exorcism, but Rose was very breathing and
good to look at and in the next chair.

His fingers took a long time getting his watch.

"I've _got_ to go Rose, really."

"Must you? What's the time--eleven?--why heavens, I've kept you here
ages, haven't I, and done nothing but moan about my troubles all the
time."

"You know I liked it." Ted's voice was curiously boyishly honest in a
way he hated but a way that was one of Rose's reasons why he was here
with her.

"Well, come again," she said frankly. "It was fun. I loved it." "I
will--Lord knows I thank you enough--after 252A Madison Avenue it was
simply perfect. And Rose--"

"Well?"

"I'm awful damn sorry. I wish I could help."

He thought she was going to laugh. Instead she turned perfectly grave.

"I wish you could, Ted."

They shook hands--it seemed to Ted with a good deal of effort to do only
that. Then they stood looking at each other.

There was so little between them--only a charm that nobody could say was
even partly real--but somewhere in Ted's brain it said "Elinor" and he
managed to shake hands again and get out of the door.

Mrs. Severance waited several minutes, listening, a faint smile curling
her mouth with intentness and satisfaction. No, this time he wouldn't
come back--nor next time, maybe--but there would be other times---

Then she went into the pantry and started heating water for the dishes
that she had explained reassuringly to Ted they were leaving for
Elizabeth. There was no need at all of Elizabeth's knowing any more than
was absolutely necessary.

XXVI

Mr. Severance--the courtesy title at least is due him--seems to be a
man with quite a number of costly possessions. At least here he is with
another house, a dinner-table, servants, guests, another Mrs. Severance
or somebody who seems to fill her place very adequately at the opposite
end of the table, all as if Rose and the Riverside Drive apartment and
reading Dickens aloud were only parts of a doll-house kept in one locked
drawer of his desk.

The dinner is flawless, the guests importantly jeweled or stomached,
depending on their sex, the other Mrs. Severa