e glance ancient as tradition--significant as fate. At his
distant table, Max rose and laid a trembling hand upon Blake's arm.

"Ned! May we go?"

"Oh, why? The night is young!"

"Please!"

"But why?"

"I desire it."

Blake looked more closely, and his expression changed.

"Why, you're ill, boy!" he said. "You're as white as a sheet!"

Max tried to laugh. "It is the heat--nothing more."

"Of course it is! The place is like a hot-house! You want a breath of
air!"

Again Max tried to laugh, but it was a laugh oddly broken.

"That is it!" he said. "I want the air."

CHAPTER XX

Max passed down the long, low room, blind to the white light, blind to
the flowers and faces, deaf to the voices and laughter and swaying sound
of stringed instruments.

One glance he permitted himself--one only--at the table where the man
and woman still looked into each other's eyes and where the sheaf of
pink roses still shed its incense: then he passed down the steep, short
stairs, halting at the door of the _cafe_, hesitating between two
atmospheres--outside, the sharp street lights, the cold, wind-swept
pavement--within, the hot air, the close sense of humanity, powerful as
a narcotic.

"Ned!" he said, looking back for Blake, "I need a favor. Will you grant
it?"

"A hundred!" Blake was buttoning up his coat.

"Then wish me good-night here. I would go home alone."

"Alone? What nonsense! You don't think I'd desert you when you're seedy?
What you want is air. We'll take a stroll along the boulevards."

Max shook his head. He seemed rapt in his own thoughts; his pale face
was full of purpose.

"I am quite well--now."

"Then all the more reason for the stroll! Come along!"

But the boy drew away. "Another time! Not to-night."

"Why not?"

"I cannot tell you."

Blake looked more closely at the nervously set lips, the dark eyebrows
drawn into a frown.

"I say, boy, it hasn't got on your nerves--this place? I know what a
queer little beggar you are."

"No; it is not that."

"Then what? Another inspiration?"

"No."

"Very well! I won't probe. I'm old enough to know that the human animal
is inexplicable. Good-night--and good luck! I'll see you to-morrow."

"To-morrow, yes!"

There was relief in the readiness of the response, relief in the quick
thrusting forth of the boy's hand.

"Good-night!"

"Good-night! And go to bed when you get home. You're very white."

"Yes."

His voice seemed to reced