too
friendly, and her tap at the door.

"Some one in the waiting-room," she called.

When he opened the connecting door he found Elizabeth beyond it, a
pale and frightened Elizabeth, breathless and very still. It was a
perceptible moment before he could control his voice to speak. Then:

"I suppose you want to see David. I'm sorry, but he isn't well to-day.
He is still in bed."

"I didn't come to see David, Dick."

"I cannot think you want to see me, Elizabeth."

"I do, if you don't mind."

He stood aside then and let her pass him into the rear office.

But he was not fooled at all. Not he. He had been enough. He knew
why she had come, in the kindness of heart. (She was so little. Good
heavens, a man could crush her to nothing!) She had come because she was
sorry for him, and she had brought forgiveness. It was like her. It was
fine. It was damnable.

His voice hardened, for fear it might be soft.

"Is this a professional visit, or a Christmas call, Elizabeth? Or
perhaps I shouldn't call you that."

"A Christmas call?"

"You know what I mean. The day of peace. The day--what do you think I'm
made of, Elizabeth? To have you here, gentle and good and kind--"

He got up and stood over her, tall and almost threatening.

"You've been to church, and you've been thinking things over, I know. I
was there. I heard it all, peace on earth, goodwill to men. Bosh. Peace,
when there is no peace. Good will! I don't want your peace and good
will."

She looked up at him timidly.

"You don't want to be friends, then?"

"No. A thousand times, no," he said violently. Then, more gently: "I'm
making a fool of myself. I want your peace and good will, Elizabeth. God
knows I need them."

"You frighten me, Dick," she said, slowly. "I didn't come to bring
forgiveness, if that is what you mean. I came--"

"Don't tell me you came to ask it. That would be more than I can bear."

"Will you listen to me for a moment, Dick? I am not good at explaining
things, and I'm nervous. I suppose you can see that." She tried to smile
at him. "A--a little work, a sleep, a little love, that's life, isn't
it?"

He was watching her intently.

"Work and trouble, and a long sleep at the end for which let us be duly
thankful--that's life, too. Love? Not every one gets love."

Hopelessness and despair overwhelmed her. He was making it hard for her.
Impossible. She could not go on.

"I did not come with peace," she said tremulously, "but if