he thought of death seemed
very sweet to her.

Philip came in, saw Lawrence asleep, and stole across the room to peep
in at her. She met his glance.

"I beg your pardon," he murmured.

"Never mind," she answered dully. "Come in if you like."

He hesitated, then stepped through, and let the curtain fall behind him.

"May I sit here?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Why not?" Her voice was colorless. "Only please speak softly. Don't
wake Lawrence."

"He'll feel better after his sleep, I think."

"I hope so."

He sat looking down into her dark, clouded eyes. There was something so
tragic, so sad, and so submissive in them that he was filled with utter
tenderness.

"Claire," he whispered, "what is the matter?"

"Nothing. I'm quite well."

"You look absolutely desolate."

"I don't especially feel so."

"Are you happy?"

"I don't know."

He stooped over her, studying her face. She did not move, only her deep,
dark eyes looked up coldly into his. He took the hand which she did not
draw away, and whispered: "Claire, let me make you happy."

She did not answer. He bent nearer. Her eyes did not shift from his, she
saw that he was going to kiss her, but she did not move. If the whole
world had come crashing down upon her, she could not have made the
slightest effort to escape.

He pressed his lips against hers. She did not return his kiss, but she
did not protest. He slipped his arm around her waist and drew her up.
Still she made no objection. He held her more closely, kissing her again
and again. She remained impassive, unable to summon sufficient willpower
to resist. Besides, had she not decided to be this man's wife?

He was pouring into her ears short, whispered words of endearment,
giving his love free rein.

"Claire--Claire," he whispered passionately, "you do love me! Say you
love me!"

"Oh, must I say that?" she asked languidly.

He laid her head back on the pillow tenderly.

"Why shouldn't you?" he demanded. "You do, or you wouldn't let me act
this way. Oh, Claire, isn't that true?"

"Doesn't your own heart tell you, Philip?" She could not lie easily.

"Yes, of course. I just wanted to hear you say it, dear."

"Why?"

"Because--because it means so much to me."

"How does it mean any more than my unresisting lips?" She wanted to be
fair to Philip. Would he want a wife without love?

He looked at her, puzzled by her calm question.

"Because, dear, it would mean that you