The utter futility of so much wasted feeling bordered on tragedy; the
need which it had expressed had been so primitive, so distressingly
sincere. He was confronted with the necessity of confessing that his
passion for Terry was at an end.

When had it died? Perhaps only since he had entered this quiet room,
with its moonlit landscape, its lowered lights and its wise mistress,
sitting so gravely alone with her patient beauty and her gently folded
hands. But even before he had entered, it must have been dying. For
weeks he had been flogging it, like an over-tired horse, into a feeble
display of energy. More than anything, his conduct with Maisie proved
that.

Maisie's excuse for the error of her many marriages recurred to
him--that Gervis and Lockwood had hung up their hats in her hall.
Frivolous, yes! But had he been less frivolous in his treatment of
Terry? He had felt the compulsion to concentrate his craving to love and
be loved on some special woman! Terry had been handiest, so he'd hung
his idolatry on her.

But to acknowledge this implied a fickleness of temperament that was
disastrous to his self-respect. It deflated him to the proportions of an
Adair. It toppled his lofty standards in the dust. It changed him from a
loyalist, making a fanatical last stand, into a haggard runaway.

His pride leapt up in his defense. Turning to Lady Dawn, with grim
despair he muttered, "But I want her. I can't do without her. I want no
one else."

X

Her voice reached him out of the darkness. "To own that we've been
mistaken takes more courage than to persist in the wrong direction. 'I
want no one else!' We've all said that. It was through saying it that I
brought about my shipwreck. But if you're sure that you want no one
else, you must have her. If there's any way of getting her for you,
I'll do my best to help."

She made an effort to rise. She stood before him swaying, a blinded look
on her face, her eyes closed, her hands stretched out. He placed his arm
about her. Her weight sagged against him.

"Not the servants," she whispered. "You and I. Give me air."

With his free hand he jerked the catch and pushed the window wide. The
cool dampness of the night streamed in on her. He stood there with her
clasped against him, her head stretched back, her body drooping. In the
bowl of darkness at the foot of the turret, the rose-garden floated. Out
of sight, in the green-scummed moat, a fish leapt with a sullen splash.
A