fferent. I think I had better go."

"Is the reason important?"

"I don't know, Valerie--I don't really know."

He was thinking of this new and sweet familiarity--something suddenly
born into being under the wide stars--something that had not been a
moment since, and now was--something invoked by the vastness of earth
and sky--something confirmed by the wind in the forest.

"I had better go," he said.

Her silence acquiesced; they turned into the ragged lawn, ascended the
dew-wet steps; and then he released her waist.

The hallways were dark and deserted as they mounted the stairs side by
side.

"This is my door," she said.

"Mine is on the next floor."

"Then--good night, Louis."

He took her hand in silence. After a moment she released it; laid both
hands lightly on his shoulders, lifted her face and kissed him.

"Good night," she said. "You have made this a very happy day in my life.
Shall I see you in the morning?"

"I'm afraid not. I left word to have a horse ready at daylight. It is
not far from that, now."

"Then I shall not see you again?"

"Not until you come to New York."

"Couldn't you come back for a day? Querida is coming. Sammy and Harry
Annan are coming up over Sunday. Couldn't you?"

"Valerie, dear, I _could_"--he checked himself; thought for a while
until the strain of his set teeth aroused him to consciousness of his
own emotion.

Rather white he looked at her, searching for the best phrase--for it was
already threatening to be a matter of phrases now--of forced smiles--and
some breathing spot fit for the leisure of self-examination.

"I'm going back to paint," he said. "Those commissions have waited long
enough."

He strove to visualise his studio, to summon up the calm routine of the
old regime--as though the colourless placidity of the past could steady
him.

"Will you need me?" she asked.

"Later--of course. Just now I've a lot of men's figures to deal
with--that symbolical affair for the new court house."

"Then you don't need me?"

"No."

She thought a moment, slim fingers resting on the knob of her door,
standing partly turned away from him. Then, opening her door, she
stepped inside, hesitated, looked back:

"Good-bye, Louis, dear," she said, gently.

CHAPTER VI

Neville had begun to see less and less of Valerie West. When she first
returned from the country in September she had come to the studio and
had given him three or four mornings on the portr