heart, the sort
it's a sorry thing for a man to play with."

He made no answer, looking out from his window into the Park and its
yellowing foliage. Then he lifted his maimed arm and stared at it.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE REPAIR OF A BROKEN STRAND

We sat there for some long minutes, in silence. Gordon was thinking
deeply. His expression, the abandonment shown in the looseness of his
limbs and the falling forward of his head, were instinct with something
that represented to me a forgetting of pose and calculated conduct.

"I've seen so much suffering," he suddenly said. "That sort of thing
either hardens a man into stone or softens his heart till he can cry out
in hatred of the idea of inflicting pain that can be spared."

I made no answer. It was best to chance no interruption of his mood. My
thoughts were of the meeting that would take place in a few minutes.
Indeed, I felt that I ought not to be there, that my presence might
hinder some cry of the heart, words a woman's soul might dictate. But I
was compelled to remain, since Gordon wished me to. He was now like a
child needing the comfort of a friendly hand before entering a place of
darkness. But I would seize the first opportunity of leaving them alone.
At any rate, I could cross the long studio and go into the next room, if
needed.

Then the bell rang. I think it startled Gordon. The old woman went to
the door, and we heard the girl asking for Mr. McGrath, in her pleasant
and assured voice. I rose to meet her, lifting one of the portieres to
one side.

She looked at me, slightly surprised, but put out her hand, smiling
rather vaguely, her eyes belying the calmness of her voice, her
movements showing slight nervousness. Gordon was standing. I expected
him to come forward, but he remained where he was, rather helplessly,
and she stepped forward toward him, swiftly.

"Hello, Gordon!" she exclaimed. "I'm so glad to see you again. What a
bad boy you've been not to write to me! That--that only letter of yours
implied that you gave me back my freedom, and so I suppose I am at
liberty to consider myself as a little sister--or a pretty big one, and
greet you as one."

With a swift motion of her hand she pushed up the tiny transparent veil
she wore, put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him, quickly, as if
he really had been a brother she was delighted to see again. Then she
sat down on the stool he had used to put his palette and tubes on and
turned to