ent with
two; especially as they were boy and girl.

The other man in him--the man who wasn't her lover--would struggle of
course. Except when she was by, the lover would probably have a bad time
of it. She'd have to find some amusing sort of occupation to enable her
to forget that. But when she was there, it would be strange if she and
her lover together couldn't, most of the time, keep the other man locked
up where he wouldn't disturb them much.

Lived without remorse or misgivings, played magnificently for all it
was worth, as she could play it--she knew that now--it would be a rather
wonderful life. They must be decidedly an exceptional pair of lovers,
she thought. Certainly Madame Greville's generalization about Americans
did not apply to them, and she was coming to suspect it did apply to the
majority of her friends. She could have that life--safely, surely, as
far as our poor mortality can be sure of anything. She had only to reach
out her hands.

But if, instead, she took the leap ...!

"Roddy ..." she said.

He was slumped down in a big easy chair at the other side of the table,
swinging a restless foot; drumming now and then with his fingers. It was
many silent minutes since the storm of reproach with which he had
repelled her plea for a part in the actual responsible care of her
children had died away. He had spoken with unnecessary vehemence, he
knew. He had admitted that--said he was sorry, as well as he could
without withdrawing from his position. But he had been met by that most
formidable of all weapons--a blank silence--an inscrutable face. Some
sort of scene was inevitable, he knew. And he sat there waiting for it.
She had been hurt. She was undoubtedly very angry.

He thought he was ready for anything. But just the way she spoke his
name, startled--almost frightened--him, she said it so quietly,
so--tenderly.

"Roddy," she said, "I want you to come over here and kiss me, and then
go back and sit down in that chair again."

He went a little pale at that. The swing of his foot was arrested
suddenly. But, for a moment, he made no move--just looked wonderingly
into her great grave eyes.

"Something's going to happen," she went on, "and before it's over, I'm
afraid it's going to hurt you terribly--and me. And I want the kiss for
us to remember. So that we'll always know, whatever happens afterward,
that we loved each other." She held out her arms to him. "Won't you
come?"

He came--a man bewi