d meet men of rank, men of note--"

She interrupted him.

"Men of rank! I've no doubt of it. How about their wives?"

He shook his head. A look of what seemed noble pain was on his face,
impatience at the shallowness of things.

"Rose," he said, "you know how little I respect society as it is. Take
out of it what good you can, the play of emotion, the charm, the
inspiration. Don't undervalue the structure, my dear. Live, in spite of
it."

She looked at him wearily and thought how handsome he was, and that
these were platitudes. Then his train came, and he left her with a
benedictory grace, standing on the step hat in hand, majestic in his
courtesy. But as she watched him, suddenly, an instant before the train
was starting she saw him yield and sway. He leaned upon the rail with
both hands and then, as if by a quick decision, stepped to the platform
again. She hurried to him, and found him with an unfamiliar look on his
face. It might have been dread anticipation; it was surely pain.

"What is it?" she asked him. "Tell me."

He did not answer, but involuntarily he stretched out his hand to her.

"Rub it," he said. "Hold it tight. Infernal! oh, infernal!"

As she rubbed the hand he suddenly recovered his old manner. The color
came back to his face, and he breathed in a deep relief.

"That's over," he said, almost recklessly, she thought. "Queer how quick
it goes!"

"What is it?" She was trembling. It seemed to her that they had each
passed through some mysterious crisis.

"Is there another train to town?" he was asking an official, who had
kept a curious eye on him. There would be in three minutes, an
accommodation crawling after the express he had lost.

"Good-by again," he called to Rose, with a weaker transcript of his
usual manner. "I'm to be down in a few days, you know. Good-by."

This time he walked into the car, and she saw him take his seat and lie
back against the window-casing. But he recovered himself and smiled,
when his eyes met hers. If anything was the matter, she was evidently
not to know.

XIV

As the two had walked away, Peter turned to Electra, stammering forth,--

"Isn't he a great old boy?"

He was tremendous, she owned, in language better chosen; and this new
community of feeling was restful to her.

"Come out into the garden," he said, and as they went along the path to
the grape arbor he took her hand and she left it to him. They seemed
restored to close relations,