en there's the confounded music" (the music he'd
praised so highly, applauded so loudly last night!). "We shan't be able
to hear each other speak. Let's have something up here in front of the
fire. It's too late for tea. I'll order a little supper, shall I? How
does that idea strike you?"

"Do, darling!" said Janey. "And while you're away--the children's
letters--"

"Oh, later on will do!" said Hammond.

"But then we'd get it over," said Janey. "And I'd first have time to--"

"Oh, I needn't go down!" explained Hammond. "I'll just ring and give the
order... you don't want to send me away, do you?"

Janey shook her head and smiled.

"But you're thinking of something else. You're worrying about
something," said Hammond. "What is it? Come and sit here--come and sit
on my knee before the fire."

"I'll just unpin my hat," said Janey, and she went over to the
dressing-table. "A-ah!" She gave a little cry.

"What is it?"

"Nothing, darling. I've just found the children's letters. That's all
right! They will keep. No hurry now!" She turned to him, clasping them.
She tucked them into her frilled blouse. She cried quickly, gaily: "Oh,
how typical this dressing-table is of you!"

"Why? What's the matter with it?" said Hammond.

"If it were floating in eternity I should say 'John!'" laughed
Janey, staring at the big bottle of hair tonic, the wicker bottle of
eau-de-Cologne, the two hair-brushes, and a dozen new collars tied with
pink tape. "Is this all your luggage?"

"Hang my luggage!" said Hammond; but all the same he liked being laughed
at by Janey. "Let's talk. Let's get down to things. Tell me"--and as
Janey perched on his knees he leaned back and drew her into the deep,
ugly chair--"tell me you're really glad to be back, Janey."

"Yes, darling, I am glad," she said.

But just as when he embraced her he felt she would fly away, so Hammond
never knew--never knew for dead certain that she was as glad as he
was. How could he know? Would he ever know? Would he always have this
craving--this pang like hunger, somehow, to make Janey so much part
of him that there wasn't any of her to escape? He wanted to blot out
everybody, everything. He wished now he'd turned off the light. That
might have brought her nearer. And now those letters from the children
rustled in her blouse. He could have chucked them into the fire.

"Janey," he whispered.

"Yes, dear?" She lay on his breast, but so lightly, so remotely. Their
brea