d she want to lose him? She could
have him still as a friend, her home open to him always, her husband as
glad to welcome him as she herself--yes, that would be best.

She was walking again now, rapidly, thinking as she moved, and it all
seemed very clear to her. She would tell her husband how Lawrence had
suffered, how brave he had been, and how he had carried her on and on,
when death seemed inevitable. Howard would owe Lawrence a tremendous
debt of gratitude, and would make existence easier for him. Lawrence had
had a hard life, his bitter attitude showed that he deserved a less
obstructed road, and she would give it to him. In their home all three
would talk, laugh, and be, oh, so happy, while Lawrence could work
better with his studio near her, perhaps in her own house where care
could be taken of him. He would create great art there, and his
bitterness would end. She would show him that her husband was
understanding and imaginative. Again she stopped suddenly.

But Lawrence--would he accept? He was so independent, so doggedly
determined to fight his life out while his very battling made him
ironical and darkly pessimistic. She tried to imagine him agreeing to
her plan, and instead she heard him say, "I'm sorry, Claire, but I can't
do it. I've got to go it alone and win or go under. I can't accept the
charity you offer me in place of love. Gratitude, I know, prompts you,
but you owe me nothing, you paid your debt by being eyes for me. No, if
we can't be lovers, we can't be anything else. I know my limitations."

Why had she put in that about "lovers"? He had never said anything to
lead her to think he would say that. She answered herself that it was
because she would want him to say it. And if he did say it, what would
she answer? She would say--no, she couldn't do that--she would want to
say, "Then let us be lovers!" But that was impossible. In her own
husband's home!

And what would she think of Philip when she was again in her old world?
He, also, was deserving of gratitude. She stamped her foot in the snow.
She hated him, hated him, and he would drop out of her life, utterly and
forever. She would be glad when she saw the last of him with his
seductive eyes. Those eyes--why did he, and not Lawrence, have them?
They should have been Lawrence's. It was one more instance of the
endless ironic humor of the universe.

Lawrence--Lawrence and her husband! She turned wearily back toward the
cabin.

It was nearly