htbody entered; a woman full of appealing movements in her lithe
body, and of quick, decisive perceptions in the straight, gray glance of
her eyes. She held with one hand a cloak fastened loosely about her
throat. On her head was the hat with the three white feathers.

A minute passed while she stood, rapidly seizing every indication that
might later assist her. Then she moved slightly and said in a voice of
quiet sadness:

"Jackie."

"Great God!"

Lightbody, overturning chair and table, sprang up--recoiling as one
recoils before an avenging specter. In his convulsive fingers were the
time-tables, clinging like damp lily pads.

"Jackie, I couldn't do it. I couldn't abandon you. I've come back."
Gently, seeming to move rather than to walk, advancing with none of the
uncertainty that was in her voice, she cried, with a little break:
"Forgive me!"

"No, no, never!"

He retreated behind a chair, fury in his voice, weak at the thought of
the floating, entangling scarf, and the perfume he knew so well. Then,
recovering himself, he cried brutally:

"Never! You have given me my freedom. I'll keep it! Thanks!"

With a gradual motion, she loosened her filmy cloak and let it slip from
the suddenly revealed shoulders and slender body.

"No, no, I forbid you!" he cried. Anger--animal, instinctive
anger--began to possess him. He became brutal as he felt himself growing
weak.

"Either you go out or I do!"

"You will listen."

"What? To lies?"

"When you have heard me, you will understand, Jack."

"There is nothing to be said. I have not the slightest intention of
taking back--"

"Jack!"

Her voice rang out with sudden impressiveness: "I swear to you I have
not met him, I swear to you I came back of my own free will, because I
could not meet him, because I found that it was you--you only--whom I
wanted!"

"That is a lie!"

She recoiled before the wound in his glance. She put her long white hand
over her heart, throwing all of herself into the glance that sought to
conquer him.

"I swear it," she said simply.

"Another lie!"

"Jack!"

It was a physical rage that held him now, a rage divided against
itself--that longed to strike down, to crush, to stifle the thing it
coveted. He had almost a fear of himself. He cried:

"If you don't go, I'll--I'll--"

Suddenly he found something more brutal than a blow, something that must
drive her away, while yet he had the strength of his passion. He
crossed his a