ttle worse," he decided. "What else could he
do?"

What, indeed, could a man of Planter's wealth and authority not do? It
was a disturbing question.

Through the shrubbery the lights of the house gleamed. The moonlight
outlined the immense, luxurious mass. Never once had he entered the
great house. He was eager to study the surrounding in which women like
Sylvia lived, which she, to an extent, must reflect.

In that serene moonlight he realized that his departure, agreeable and
essential as it was, would make it impossible for him during an
indefinite period to see that slender, adolescent figure, or the
features, lovely and intolerant, that had brought about this revolution
in his life. He acknowledged now that he had looked forward each day to
those hours of proximity and contemplation; and there had been from the
first, he guessed, adoration in his regard.

It was no time to dwell on the sentimental phase of his situation. He
despised himself for still loving her. His approaching departure he must
accept gladly, since he designed it as a means of coming closer--close
enough to hurt.

He wondered if he would have one more glimpse of her, perhaps in the
house. He glanced at his watch. He could go at last. He started for the
lights. Would he see her?

At the corner of the building he hesitated before a fresh dilemma. His
logical entrance lay through the servants' quarters, but he squared his
shoulders and crossed the terrace. It was impossible now that he should
ever enter the house in which she lived by the back door.

It was a warm night, so the door stood open. The broad spaces of the
hall, the rugs, the hangings, the huge chairs, the portraits in gilt
frames against polished walls, the soft, rosy light whose source he
failed to explore, seemed mutely to reprove his presumption.

He rang. He did not hear the feet of the servant who answered. The vapid
man that had trotted for his father that afternoon suddenly shut off his
view.

"You must wear rubbers," George said.

"What you doing here? Go 'round to the back."

"Mr. Planter," George explained, patiently, "sent for me."

"All right. All right. Then go 'round to the back where you belong."

George reached out, caught the other's shoulder, and shoved him to one
side. While the servant gave a little cry and struggled to regain his
balance, George walked in. A figure emerged painfully from an easy chair
in the shadows by the fireplace.

"What's all th