too bad!" she cried. "It is cruel! I can't bear it! Oh, Grif, _do_
come!" And her tears fell thick and fast.

Ten minutes later she started up with a little cry of joy and relief.
That was his footstep upon the pavement, and before he had time to ring
she was at the door. She could scarcely speak to him in her excitement.

"Oh, Grif!" she said; "Grif--darling!"

But he did not offer to touch her, and strode past her outstretched
hands.

"Come into this room with me," he said, hoarsely; and the simple sound
of his voice struck her to the heart like a blow.

She followed him, trembling, and when they stood in the light, and she
saw his deathly, passion-wrung face, her hand crept up to her side and
pressed against it. 9

He had a package in his hand,--a package of letters,--and he laid them
down on the table.

"I have been home for these," he said. "Your letters,--I have brought
them back to you."

"Grif!" she cried out.

He waved her back.

"No," he said, "never mind that. It is too late for that now, that is
all over. Good God! all over!" and he panted for breath. "I have been in
this room waiting for you," he struggled on, "since five o'clock.
I came with my heart full to the brim. I have dreamt about what this
evening was to be to us every night for a week. I was ready to kneel and
kiss your feet. I waited hour after hour. I was ready to pray--yes, to
_pray_, like a fool--that I might hold you in my arms before the night
ended. Not half an hour ago I went out to see if you were coming. And
you were coming. At the corner of the street you were bidding good-night
to--to Ralph Gowan--"

"Listen!" she burst forth. "Mollie was with me--

"Ralph Gowan was with you," he answered her; "it does not matter who
else was there. You had spent those hours in which I wanted you with
him. That was enough,--nothing can alter that." And then all at once he
came and stood near her, and looked down at her with such anguish in his
eyes that she could have shrieked aloud. "It was a poor trick to play,
Dolly," he said; "so poor a one, that it was scarcely like you. Your
coquetries had always a fairer look. The commonest jilt might have
done such a thing as that, and almost have done it better. It is an old
trick, too, this playing the poor fool against the rich one. The only
merit of your play has been that you have kept it up so long."

He was almost mad, but he might have seen that he was trying her too
far, and that she