not Sylvia. And there is to be no time ahead for us."

"You are mistaken. A girl has no right to lead a man on as you have led
me, and then run. It isn't the game, my dear. You must not be afraid to
play the game."

Raymond reached his hand toward her and said pleadingly:

"Don't be afraid. I hate to see you flinch."

"You must not touch me." Joan's eyes flashed.

"I see. You've raised the devil in me--and you do not want to pay?" The
brute was rearing dangerously.

"I do not want to pay more than I owe."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that as true as God hears me I meant no wrong. I've done things
that girls should not do. I see that now. But I believed that you
understood. I thought that, in a way, you were like me--you were so fine
and happy. I still have faith that when you are yourself again you will
realize this. Oh! it is horrible that drink can do such an awful thing
to you."

"Whatever ideals I may have had," Raymond broke in, "you have destroyed.
Perhaps you think men have no ideals? Some women do."

"Oh! I believe with all my soul that they have. It was because I did
think that, that I dared to trust you." Joan was pleading; she could not
own defeat; she was appealing to him for himself.

But Raymond gave a sneering laugh.

"You trusted so much," he said, "that you hid behind a veil and would
not tell your name."

Raymond was hearing himself speak as if he were an eavesdropper. He
trembled and breathed hard as a runner does who is near the goal.

"What's one night in a life?" he asked, as if it were being dragged from
him.

Again his voice startled him. He looked around, hoping he might discover
who it was that spoke.

It was Joan now who was speaking:

"I think that in me as well as in you there is something that neither of
us knew. I cannot explain it--but it was something that we should have
known before----"

"Before what?" Raymond asked.

"Before I--anyway--was left to go free! It is the _knowing_ that makes
it safe, safe for such as you and me! I do not believe you ever knew
what you could be--and neither did I."

Raymond gripped his hands together and his face was ghastly.

"My God!" he breathed, and sank on the couch covering his eyes from
Joan's pitiful look. He was coming to himself, trying to realize what
had occurred as one does who becomes conscious of having spoken in
delirium.

Outside, the storm was dying down--it sounded tired and defeated.

Joan looked a