she
had told him.

He had spoken of his desertion of Mary. "But this day was made for you,
Dulcie."

They had walked on together, not heeding where they went, and when the
storm had caught them they were nearer Mills' house than Dulcie's and so
he had taken her there. They had entered the apparently empty room.

"Mary is still at church. Come and dry your little feet by my fire,
Dulcie." Mills knelt and fanned the flame.

Mary, coming slowly back from her dreams, heard this and other things,
and at last Dulcie's voice in protest:

"Dear, we must think of Mary."

"Poor Mary!"

Now the thing that Mary hated more than anything else in the whole world
was pity. Through all the shock of the astounding revelation that Mills
and Dulcie cared for each other came the sting of their sympathy. She
sat up, a shadow among the shadows.

"I mustn't stay, Mills," Dulcie was declaring.

"Why not?"

"I feel like a--thief--"

"Nonsense, we are only taking our own, Dulcie. We should have taken it
years ago. Loving you I should never have married Mary."

"I had a conscience then, Mills, and you had promised."

"But now you see it differently, Dulcie?"

"Perhaps."

Mills was on his knees beside Dulcie's chair, kissing her hands. The
fire lighted them. It was like a play, with Mary a forlorn spectator in
the blackness of the pit.

"Let me go now, Mills."

"Wait till Mary comes--we'll tell her."

"No, oh, poor Mary!"

Poor Mary indeed!

"Anyhow you've got to stay, Dulcie, and sing for me, and when Mary comes
back she'll get us some supper and I'll read you my new verses."

Among the shadows Mary had a moment of tragic mirth. Then she set her
feet on the floor and spoke:

"I'm sorry, Mills, but I couldn't cook supper to-night if I died for
it--"

From their bright circle of light they peered at her.

"Oh, my poor dear!" Dulcie said.

"I'm not poor," Mary told her, "but I'm tired, dead tired, and my head
aches dreadfully, and if you want Mills you can have him."

"Have him?" Dulcie whispered.

"Yes. I don't want him."

Mills exploded.

"What?"

"I don't want you, Mills. I'm tired of being a prop; I'm tired of
planning your meals, I'm tired of deciding whether you shall have
mushrooms with your steak or--onions. You can have him, Dulcie. I know
you think I've lost my mind." She came forward within the radius of the
light. "But I haven't. As long as I thought Mills cared I could stick it
out. But I have