l the
Judith that I knew, and in her place stood a hollow-eyed woman shaking
at gates eternally barred.

"I--thought you would come this morning. I had that lingering faith in
you."

"Your face haunted me all night," I said. "I was bound to come."

"So, this is the end of it all," she remarked, stonily.

"No," said I. "It only marks the transition from a very ill-defined
relationship to as loyal a friendship as ever man could offer woman."

She gave a quivering little shrug of disgust and turned away.

"Oh, don't talk like that 'I can't offer you bread, but I'll give you a
nice round polished stone.' Friendship! What has a woman like me got to
do with friendship?"

"Have I ever given you much more?"

"God knows what you have given me," she cried, bitterly. She stared out
of the window at the sodden street and murky air. I went to her side and
touched her wrist.

"For heaven's sake, Judith, tell me what I can do."

"What's done is done," she said, between her teeth. "When did you marry
her?"

I explained briefly the condition of affairs. She looked at me hard
and long; then stared out of the window again, and scarce heeded what I
said.

"It was to set myself right with you on this point," I added, "that I
have visited you at such an hour."

She remained silent. I took a few turns about the familiar room that was
filled with the associations of many years. The piano we chose together.
The copy of the Botticelli Tondo--the crowned Madonna of the Uffizi--I
gave her in Florence. We had ransacked London together to find the
Chippendale bookcase; and on its shelves stood books that had formed
a bond between us, and copies of old reviews containing my fugitive
contributions. A spurious Japanese dragon in faence, an inartistic
monstrosity dear to her heart, at which I had often railed, grinned
forgivingly at me from the mantel-piece. I have never realised how
closely bound up with my habits was this drawing-room of Judith's. I
stopped once more by her side.

"I can't leave you altogether, dear," I said, gently. "A bit of myself
is in this room."

Her bosom shook with unhappy laughter.

"A bit?" Then she turned suddenly on me. "Are you simply dull or sheerly
cruel?"

"I am dull," said I. "Why do you refuse my friendship? Our relation has
been scarcely more. It has not touched the deep things in us. We agreed
at the start that it should not. The words 'I love you' have never
passed between us. We have been