ment on these prefatory remarks.

'Well, as you know,' said Gerald, 'to do that needs money; and I've
none. And you know that the only solution we could ever find was that I
should marry money. And you know that I never found a woman with money
whom I liked well enough.' He was not looking at Helen as he said this;
his eyes were on the shabby old carpet that he was pacing. And in the
pause that followed Helen did not speak. She knew--it was all that she
had time to know--that her silence was expectant only, not ominous.
Consciousness, now, as well as sub-consciousness, seemed rushing to the
bolts and bars and windows of the little lodge of friendship, making it
secure--if still it might be made secure--against the storm that
gathered. She could not even wonder who Gerald had found. She had only
time for the dreadful task of defence, so that no blast of reality
should rush in upon them.

'Well,' said Gerald, and it was now with a little more inquiry and with
less serenity, 'I think, perhaps, I've found her. I think, Helen, that
your nice Althea cares about me, you know, and would have me.'

Helen sat still, and did not move her eyes from the sky and trees. There
was a long white cloud in the sky, an island floating in a sea of blue.
She noted its bays and peninsulas, the azure rivers that interlaced it,
its soft depressions and radiant uplands. She never forgot it. She could
have drawn the snowy island, from memory, for years. All her life long
she had waited for this moment; all her life long she had lived with the
sword of its acceptance in her heart. She had thought that she had
accepted; but now the sword turned--horribly turned--round and round in
her heart, and she did not know what she should do.

'Well,' Gerald repeated, standing still, and, as she knew, looking at
the back of her head in a little perplexity.

Helen looked cautiously down at the cigarette she held; it still smoked
languidly. She raised it to her lips and drew a whiff. Then, after that,
she dared a further effort. 'Well?' she repeated.

Gerald laughed a trifle nervously. 'I asked you,' he reminded her.

She was able, testing her strength, as a tight-rope walker slides a
careful foot along the rope, to go on. 'Oh, I see. And do you care about
her?'

Gerald was silent for another moment, and she guessed that he had run
his hand through his hair and rumpled it on end.

'She really is a little dear, isn't she?' he then said. 'You mayn't find