A year, a whole year, and how much
longer?"

"Only a year," she insisted. "Only a year, believe me, can't you? I
won't change, I won't!"

He shook his head, and Suzanne as before took his face in her hands. She
kissed his cheeks, his lips, his hair.

"Believe me, Eugene. I seem cold. You don't know what I have gone
through. It is nothing but trouble everywhere. Let us wait a year. I
promise you I will come to you. I swear. One year. Can't we wait one
year?"

"A year," he said. "A year. I can't believe it. Where will we all be in
a year? Oh, Flower Face, Myrtle Bloom, Divine Fire. I can't stand this.
I can't. It's too much. I'm the one who is paying now. Yes, I pay."

He took her face and looked at it, all its soft, enticing features, her
eyes, her lips, her cheeks, her hair.

"I thought, I thought," he murmured.

Suzanne only stroked the back of his head with her hands.

"Well, if I must, I must," he said.

He turned away, turned back to embrace her, turned again and then,
without looking back, walked out into the hall. Mrs. Dale was there
waiting.

"Good night, Mrs. Dale," he said gloomily.

"Good night, Mr. Witla," she replied frigidly, but with a sense of
something tragic in her victory at that.

He took his hat and walked out.

Outside the bright October stars were in evidence by millions. The Bay
and Harbor of New York were as wonderfully lit as on that night when
Suzanne came to him after the evening at Fort Wadsworth on her own
porch. He recalled the spring odours, the wonderful feel of youth and
love--the hope that was springing then. Now, it was five or six months
later, and all that romance was gone. Suzanne, sweet voice, accomplished
shape, light whisper, delicate touch. Gone. All gone--

"Faded the flower and all its budded charms,
Faded the sight of beauty from my eyes,
Faded the shape of beauty from my arms,
Faded the voice, warmth, whiteness, paradise."

Gone were those bright days in which they had ridden together, dined
together, walked in sylvan places beside their car. A little way from
here he first played tennis with her. A little way from here he had come
so often to meet her clandestinely. Now she was gone--gone.

He had come in his car, but he really did not want it. Life was
accursed. His own was a failure. To think that all his fine dreams
should crumble this way. Shortly he would have no car, no home on
Riverside Drive, no position, no anything.

"God, I can