"I presume," she said stiffly--"I presume that this--ah--ends it."

Staff opened the door an inch and held it so. "If by 'it,'" he replied,
"we mean the same thing--"

"We do."

"It does," he asseverated with his twisted smile.

She delayed an instant longer. "But all the same," she said hastily, at
length, "I want that play."

"_My_ play?" he enquired with significant emphasis.

"Yes, of course," she said sharply.

"Well, since I'm under contract with Max, I don't well see how I can
take it away from you. And besides, you're the only woman living who can
play it properly."

"So good of you." Her hand lay slim and cool in his for the fraction of
an instant. "Good night," she iterated, withdrawing it.

"Good night."

As he let her out, Staff, glancing down at the waiting taxicab, was
faintly surprised by the discovery that she had not come alone. A man
stood in waiting by the door--a man in evening clothes: not Max but a
taller man, more slender, with a better carriage. Turning to help Alison
into the cab, the street lights threw his face in sharp relief against
the blackness of the window; and Staff knew him.

"Arkroyd!" he said beneath his breath.

He closed the door and set the latch, suffering from a species of mild
astonishment. His psychological processes seemed to him rather unique;
he felt that he was hardly playing the game according to Hoyle. A man
who has just broken with the woman with whom he has believed himself
desperately in love naturally counts on feeling a bit down in the mouth.
And seeing her drive off with one whom he has every right to consider in
the light of a hated rival, he ought in common decency to suffer
poignant pangs of jealousy. But Staff didn't; he couldn't honestly make
himself believe that he was suffering in any way whatever. Indeed, the
most violent emotion to which he was sensible was one of chagrin over
his own infatuate myopia.

"Ass!" he called himself, slowly reascending the stairs. "You might 've
seen this coming long ago, if you hadn't wilfully chosen to be blind as
a bat!"

Re-entering his study, he pulled up with a start and a cry of sincere
amazement.

"Well, I'll be damned!"

"Then why not lead a better life?" enquired Mr. Iff.

He was standing in the doorway to the bedroom, looking much like an
exceptionally cruel caricature of himself. As he spoke, he slouched
wearily over to the wing-chair Alison had recently occupied, and dropped
into it like a d