!" Camilla Maurice stared again. "Isn't it reason
enough that I love him, and don't love you? Isn't it sufficient reason
to one who has lived until middle life in darkness that a ray of light
is in sight? Of all people in the world, you're the one who should
understand the reason best!"

"Would any of those arguments be sufficient to break another
contract?"

"No, but one I didn't mention would. Even when I lived with you, I was
of no more importance than a half-dozen other women."

"You didn't protest at time of the agreement. You knew then my belief
and," Arnold paused meaningly, "your own."

A memory of the past came to the woman; the dark, lonely past, which,
even yet, after so many years, came to her like a nightmare; the time
when she was a stranger in a strange town, without joy of past or hope
of future; most lonely being on God's earth, a woman with an
ambition--and without friends.

"I was mad--I see it now--lonely mad. I met you. Our work was alike,
and we were very useful to each other." One white hand made motion of
repugnance at the thought. "I was mad, I say."

"Is that your excuse for ignoring a solemn obligation?" Arnold looked
her through. "Is that your excuse for leaving me for another, without
a word of explanation, or even the conventional form of a divorce?"

"It was just that explanation--this--I wished to avoid. It's hard for
us both, and useless."

"Useless!" The man quickly picked up the word. "Useless! I don't like
the suggestion of that word. It hints of death, and old age, and
hateful things. It has no place with the living."

He drew a paper from his pocket, slowly, and spread it on his knee.

"Pardon me for again recalling past history, Eleanor; but to use
a word that is dead!... You must have forgotten--" The writing,
a dainty, feminine hand, was turned toward her, tauntingly,
compellingly.

The man waited for some response; but Camilla Maurice was silent. That
bit of paper, the shadow of a seemingly impossible past, made her, for
the time, question her identity, almost doubt it.

Five years ago, almost to the day, high up in a city building, in a
dainty little room, half office, half _atelier_, a man and a woman had
copied an agreement, each for the other, and had sworn an oath ever to
remain true to that solemn bond.... She had brought nothing to him,
but herself; not even affection. He, on the other hand, had saved her
from a life of drudgery by elevating her to a positi