ichly in the flame of
Aunt Priscilla's open fire, was not disconcerted.

"I know. Mary doesn't satisfy him, Aunt Cilla."

"And you do?"

"Yes."

"The less you see of him the better."

"I'm not sure of that."

"Why not?"

"I can inspire him, be the torch to illumine his path."

"So that's the way you are putting it to yourself! But how will Mary
like that?"

"Oh, Mary"--Dulcie moved restlessly--"I don't want to hurt Mary. I
don't want to hurt Mary," she said again, out of a long silence, "but
after all I have a right to save Mills' soul for him, haven't I, Aunt
Cilla?"

"Saving souls had better be left to those who make a business of it."

"I mean his poetic soul." Dulcie studied the toes of her rosy slippers.
"A man can't live by bread alone."

Yet Mills had thrived rather well on the bread that Mary had given him,
and there was this to say for Mills, he was very fond of his wife. She
was not the love of his life, but she had been a helpmate for many
years. He felt that he owed many things to her affection and strength.
Like Dulcie, he shrank from making her unhappy.

It was because of Mary, therefore, that the lovers dallied. Otherwise,
they said to each other, Mills would cast off his shackles, ask for his
freedom, and then he and Dulcie would fly to Paris, where nobody probed
into pasts and where they could make their dreams come true.

They found many ways in which to see each other. Dulcie had a little
town car, and she picked Mills up at all hours and took him on long and
lovely rides, from which he returned ecstatic, with wild flowers in his
coat and a knowledge of work left undone.

Gossip began to fly about. Aunt Priscilla warned Dulcie.

"It is a dangerous thing to do, my dear. People will talk."

"What do Mills and I care for people? Oh, if it were not for Mary--" She
had just come in from a ride with Mills, and her eyes were shining.

"I wish we were not dining there to-night," said Aunt Priscilla. "I
wonder how Mary manages a dinner of eight with only one servant."

"She is so splendid and competent, Aunt Cilla. Mills says so. Everybody
says it. Things are easy for her that would be hard for other people."

"I wonder what she thinks of you?"

Dulcie, drawing off her gloves, meditated.

"I fancy she likes me. I know I love her, but not so much as I love
Mills."

Fifteen years ago Dulcie would have died rather than admit her love for
a married man. But since then she had seen lif