. You
didn't tell me what happened after."

The professor's chair, which had been tilted negligently back, came
down with a thud.

"After?" he murmured meekly. "After--?"

"I mean," prompted Desire gently, "did she marry the other man?"

"The other man? I--I don't know." The professor was willing to be
truthful while he could. But instantly he saw that it wouldn't do.

"You--don't--know?" If ever incredulity breathed in any voice it
breathed in hers. It gave our weak-kneed liar the brace that he needed.

"No," he said sadly, "they were to have been married--I have never
heard."

"Oh! Then, of course, she did not live in your home town."

"Didn't she?" asked Spence, momentarily off guard. "Oh, I see what you
mean--no, naturally not."

"I thought that perhaps you might have been boy and girl together,"
dreamily. "It so often happens."

"It does," said Spence. "But it didn't."

"And is there no one--no friend, from whom you could naturally inquire?
You feel you wouldn't care to ask anyone?"

"Ask? Good heavens, no--certainly not!"

"Men are queer," said Desire naively. "A woman would just simply have
to ask."

"She would."

"You think me inquisitive?" Her quick brain had not missed the dry
implication of his tone. "But you see I had to know something. It's all
right, I'm sure. But it would have been so much--more comfortable if
she were quite married."

(Oh course it would--why in thunder hadn't he thought of that? The
professor was much annoyed with himself.)

"She is probably quite, utterly married long ago," he said gloomily.
"What possible difference can it make?"

"None. Don't look so bitter! Perhaps I should not have asked questions.
I won't ask any more--except one. Would you mind very much telling me
her name?"

Her name!

The harassed man looked wildly around. But there was no escape. Not
even Sami was in sight. Only a jeering crow flapped black wings and
laughed discordantly.

"Just her first name, you know," added Desire reasonably.

"Oh yes--certainly. No, of course I don't mind. I am quite willing to
tell you her name. But--do you mean her real name or--or--the name she
was usually called?" The professor was sparring wildly for time.

"Wasn't she called by her real name?"

"Well--er--not always."

Desire's eyebrows became very slanting. "Any name will do," she said
coldly.

The professor gathered himself together. "Her name," he said
triumphantly, "Was--is Mary."

He had