ER VII.

For a few moments Underwood was too much overcome by emotion to speak.
Alicia brushed by in haughty silence, not deigning to look at him. All
he heard was the soft rustle of her clinging silk gown as it swept along
the floor. She was incensed with him, of course, but she had come. That
was all he asked. She had come in time to save him. He would talk to her
and explain everything and she would understand. She would help him in
this crisis as she had in the past. Their long friendship, all these
years of intimacy, could not end like this. There was still hope for
him. The situation was not as desperate as he feared. He might yet avert
the shameful end of the suicide. Advancing toward her, he said in a
hoarse whisper:

"Oh, this is good of you, you've come--this is the answer to my
letter."

Alicia ignored his extended hand and took a seat. Then, turning on him,
she exclaimed indignantly:

"The answer should be a horsewhip. How dare you send me such a message?"
Drawing from her bag the letter received from him that evening, she
demanded:

"What do you expect to gain by this threat?"

"Don't be angry, Alicia."

Underwood spoke soothingly, trying to conciliate her. Well he knew the
seductive power of his voice. Often he had used it and not in vain, but
to-night it fell on cold, indifferent ears.

"Don't call me by that name," she snapped.

Underwood made no answer. He turned slightly paler and, folding his
arms, just looked at her, in silence. There was an awkward pause.

At last she said:

"I hope you understand that everything's over between us. Our
acquaintance is at an end."

"My feelings toward you can never change," replied Underwood earnestly.
"I love you--I shall always love you."

Alicia gave a little shrug of her shoulders, expressive of utter
indifference.

"Love!" she exclaimed mockingly. "You love no one but yourself."

Underwood advanced nearer to her and there was a tremor in his voice as
he said:

"You have no right to say that. You remember what we once were. Whose
fault is it that I am where I am to-day? When you broke our engagement
and married old Jeffries to gratify your social ambition, you ruined my
life. You didn't destroy my love--you couldn't kill that. You may forbid
me everything--to see you--to speak to you--even to think of you, but I
can never forget that you are the only woman I ever cared for. If you
had married me, I might have been a different man. And now,