ch, whose face was turned
toward them as he stroked thoughtfully at his silver beard--"he's got me
fer fair--dere ain't no fake here--dis way ter live is de real t'ing--he
ain't like you an' me--he's _more'n_ dat--look at him now--youse'd t'ink
he could see us, an' was listenin' ter wot we said. I dunno wot's de
end--I dunno wot's de matter wid me. I was scared more'n ever out dere
dis afternoon on de lawn, an' I thought mabbe God 'ud strike me
dead--but 'tain't only dat I'm scared ter buck de game any more, 'tain't
only dat--I don't _wanter_ any more, an' it don't make no difference
about de dough--I wanter live straight, same as him, same as de guys
around here, same--same as Mamie. Say, Helena, say, do youse believe in
love--in--in de _real_ t'ing?"

Helena's apathy was gone now--a flush dyed her cheeks. She was not
startled at what the Flopper had said--she had seen it coming,
subconsciously, vaguely, mistily, for days now, only she had been
immersed in herself--she was not startled, and yet, in a way, she was.
The end! She too had been thinking about that--and she too did not know.
What _was_ the end?

"You were going to say something about Pale Face," she said, prompting
the Flopper. "Something about Pale Face and Doc."

"Yes," said the Flopper, and again the tip of his tongue sought his lips
nervously. "Dat's why I don't want youse ter go out wid Thornton
ter-night. Pale Face has got it de same as me, an' he told de Doc dis
afternoon, out in de path dere, after de Doc left de cottage here. Dere
was a showdown--see? De Doc 'ud kill youse an' Thornton ter-night if he
caught youse ter-gether. He's like a wild man. When Pale Face tells him
he was goin' ter quit, de Doc makes a grab fer him by de t'roat like a
tiger, only Pale Face gets away, an' den de Doc goes off widout a word,
laughin' like he'd escaped out of a dippy-house. An' Pale Face was
shakin' like he had a fit when he gets here. Say, Helena, don't youse go
ter-night."

Helena made no answer for a moment. Thoughts, a world of them, confused
her, crowded upon her, as they had ever since Madison had left her room
a few hours ago--and the future was as some dread, bewildering maze
through which she had tried to stumble and grope her way--and had lost
herself ever deeper. How full of utter, miserable, bitter irony it was
that this thing, unscrupulous and shameful, that they had created in
their guilt should have brought the beauty and the glory and the
yea