thanked him briefly, quietly, with a constraint he understood too
well to resent.

People began to gather upon the platform, to loiter about and pass up
and down. Further conversation would have been difficult, even if they
had found much to say to one another. Curiously or not, they didn't.
They sat on in thoughtful silence.

Both, perhaps, were sensible of some relief when at length the train
thundered in from the East, breathing smoke and flame. Whitaker helped
his wife aboard and interviewed the porter in her behalf. Then they had
a moment or two alone in the drawing-room, in which to consummate what
was meant to be their first and last parting.

"You'll get in about two," said Whitaker. "Better just slip across the
street to the Belmont for to-night. To-morrow--or the day
after--whenever you feel rested--you can find yourself more quiet
quarters."

"Yes," she said....

He comprehended something of the struggle she was having with herself,
and respected it. If he had consulted his own inclinations, he would
have turned and marched off without another word. But for her sake he
lingered. Let her have the satisfaction (he bade himself) of knowing
that she had done her duty at their leave-taking.

She caught him suddenly by the shoulders with both her hands. Her eyes
sought his with a wistful courage he could not but admire.

"You know I'm grateful...."

"Don't think of it that way--though I'm glad you are."

"You're a good man," she said brokenly.

He knew himself too well to be able to reply.

"You mustn't worry about me, now. You've made things easy for me. I can
take care of myself, and ... I shan't forget whose name I bear."

He muttered something to the effect that he was sure of that.

She released his shoulders and stood back, searching his face with
tormented eyes. Abruptly she offered him her hand.

"Good-by," she said, her lips quivering--"Good-by, good friend!"

He caught the hand, wrung it clumsily and painfully and ... realized
that the train was in motion. He had barely time to get away....

He found himself on the station platform, stupidly watching the rear
lights dwindle down the tracks and wondering whether or not
hallucinations were a phase of his malady. A sick man often dreams
strange dreams....

A voice behind him, cool with a trace of irony, observed:

"I'd give a good deal to know just what particular brand of damn'
foolishness you've been indulging in, this time."

He w