ed them to him with all her heart and soul in an
overwhelming passion of purest emotion.

"I couldn't stand it, Clive," she said, "when I heard you were at your
hotel alone.... And all the unhappiness I had heard of--your married
life--I--I couldn't stand it; I couldn't let you remain there all
alone!

"And when you came here to-night, and I saw in your face how these
four years had altered you--how it had been with you--I wanted you
back--to let you know I am sorry--to let you know I care for the man
who has known unhappiness, as I cared for the boy who had known only
happiness.

"Do you understand, Clive? Do you, dear? Don't you see what I see?--a
man standing all alone by a closed door behind which his hopes lie
dead.

"Clive, that is where you came to me, offering sympathy and
friendship. That is where I come to you in my turn, offering whatever
you care to take of me--if there is in me anything that may comfort
you."

He bent and laid his lips to her hands again, remaining so, curbed
before her; and she looked down at his lean and powerful head and
shoulders, and saw the hint of grey edging the crisp, dark hair, and
the dark stain of tropic suns, that never could be effaced.

So far no passion, other than innocent, had she ever known for any
man,--nothing of lesser emotion, nothing physical. And, had she
thought of it at all she must have believed that it was that way with
her still. For no thought concerning it disturbed her tender,
tremulous happiness with this man beside her who still held her hands
imprisoned against his breast.

And presently they were seated on the couch at the foot of her bed,
excited, garrulous, exchanging gossip, confidences, ideas long
unuttered, desires long unexpressed.

Under the sweeping flashlight of her intelligence the four years of
his absence were illuminated, and passed swiftly in review for his
inspection. Of loneliness, perplexity, grief, deprivation, she made
light, laughingly, shrugging her smooth young shoulders.

"All that was yesterday," she said. "There is only to-day, now--until
to-morrow becomes to-day. You won't go away, will you, Clive?"

"No."

"There is no need of your going, is there?--no reason for you to
go--no duty--moral obligation--is there, Clive?"

"None."

"You wouldn't say so just because I wish you to, would you?"

"I wouldn't be here at all if there were any reason for me to
be--there."

"Then I am not robbing her of you?--I am not