e winced as though he had been struck, and looked at her with eyes
momentarily wild. He felt that the deliberate cruelty of her words was of
intent, an instinct of her brain, defying for the moment her heart.

"I don't know," he faltered. "I won't answer your question. I can't. You
see, the love you speak of is my love for you. You ask me to ignore
that--I, who am clinging on to life by one rope."

"You are like all men," she sighed. "We do not blame you for it--perhaps
we love you the more--but when a great crisis comes you think only of
yourselves. You disappoint me a little, Philip. I fancied that you might
have thought a little of me, something of Sylvanus Power."

"I haven't your sympathy for other people," he declared hoarsely.

"No," she assented, "sympathy is the one thing a man lacks. It isn't your
fault, Philip. You are to be pitied for it. And, after all, it is a
woman's gift, isn't it?"

There followed then a silence which seemed interminable. It was not until
they were nearing the theatre that he suddenly spoke with a passion which
startled her.

"Tell me," he insisted, "last night? I can't help asking. I was in hell!"

He told himself afterwards that there couldn't be any possible way of
reconciling cruelty so cold-blooded with all that he knew of Elizabeth.
She behaved as though his question had fallen upon deaf ears. The car had
stopped before the entrance to the theatre. She stepped out even before
he could assist her, hurried across the pavement and looked back at him
for one moment only before she plunged into the dark passage. She nodded,
and there was an utterly meaningless smile upon her lips.

"Good-by!" she said. "Do you mind telling John he needn't wait for me?"

Then she disappeared. He stood motionless upon the pavement, a little
dazed. Two or three people jostled against him. A policeman glanced at
him curiously. A lady with very yellow hair winked in his face. Philip
pulled himself together and simultaneously felt a touch upon his elbow.
He glanced into the face of the girl who had accosted him, and for a
moment he scarcely recognised her.

"Wish you'd remember you're in New York and not one of your own sleepy
old towns," Miss Grimes remarked brusquely. "You'll have a policeman say
you're drunk, in a minute, if you stand there letting people shove you
around."

He fell into step by her side, and they walked slowly along. Martha was
plainly dressed, but she was wearing new clothes,