etter. The dull
oppression which comes of a bad night was leaving her. She leaned out
of the window, revelling in the fresh air, then crossed the passage and
entered her own apartment. Stertorous breathing greeted her, and she
perceived that Gerald Foster had also passed the night in a chair. He
was sprawling by the window with his legs stretched out and his head
resting on one of the arms, an unlovely spectacle.

Sally stood regarding him for a moment with a return of the distaste
which she had felt on the previous night. And yet, mingled with the
distaste, there was a certain elation. A black chapter of her life was
closed for ever. Whatever the years to come might bring to her, they
would be free from any wistful yearnings for the man who had once been
woven so inextricably into the fabric of her life. She had thought that
his personality had gripped her too strongly ever to be dislodged,
but now she could look at him calmly and feel only a faint half-pity,
half-contempt. The glamour had departed.

She shook him gently, and he sat up with a start, blinking in the strong
light. His mouth was still open. He stared at Sally foolishly, then
scrambled awkwardly out of the chair.

"Oh, my God!" said Gerald, pressing both his hands to his forehead and
sitting down again. He licked his lips with a dry tongue and moaned.
"Oh, I've got a headache!"

Sally might have pointed out to him that he had certainly earned one,
but she refrained.

"You'd better go and have a wash," she suggested.

"Yes," said Gerald, heaving himself up again.

"Would you like some breakfast?"

"Don't!" said Gerald faintly, and tottered off to the bathroom.

Sally sat down in the chair he had vacated. She had never felt quite
like this before in her life. Everything seemed dreamlike. The splashing
of water in the bathroom came faintly to her, and she realized that she
had been on the point of falling asleep again. She got up and opened the
window, and once more the air acted as a restorative. She watched the
activities of the street with a distant interest. They, too, seemed
dreamlike and unreal. People were hurrying up and down on mysterious
errands. An inscrutable cat picked its way daintily across the road. At
the door of the apartment house an open car purred sleepily.

She was roused by a ring at the bell. She went to the door and opened
it, and found Bruce Carmyle standing on the threshold. He wore a light
motor-coat, and he was plainly