nt to, but somehow I couldn't. We had only a
few days, and your new play was just on, and you were so happy."

"Yes, I was happy, wasn't I?" She pressed his hand gently in gratitude.
"Weren't you happy then, at all?"

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, as if to draw in again the
fragrance of those days. Something of their troubling sweetness came
back to Alexander, too. He moved uneasily and his chair creaked.

"Yes, I was then. You know. But afterward. . ."

"Yes, yes," she hurried, pulling her hand gently away from him.
Presently it stole back to his coat sleeve. "Please tell me one thing,
Bartley. At least, tell me that you believe I thought I was making you
happy."

His hand shut down quickly over the questioning fingers on his sleeves.
"Yes, Hilda; I know that," he said simply.

She leaned her head against his arm and spoke softly:--

"You see, my mistake was in wanting you to have everything. I wanted you
to eat all the cakes and have them, too. I somehow believed that I could
take all the bad consequences for you. I wanted you always to be happy
and handsome and successful--to have all the things that a great man
ought to have, and, once in a way, the careless holidays that great men
are not permitted."

Bartley gave a bitter little laugh, and Hilda looked up and read in the
deepening lines of his face that youth and Bartley would not much longer
struggle together.

"I understand, Bartley. I was wrong. But I didn't know. You've only to
tell me now. What must I do that I've not done, or what must I not do?"
She listened intently, but she heard nothing but the creaking of his
chair. "You want me to say it?" she whispered. "You want to tell me that
you can only see me like this, as old friends do, or out in the world
among people? I can do that."

"I can't," he said heavily.

Hilda shivered and sat still. Bartley leaned his head in his hands and
spoke through his teeth. "It's got to be a clean break, Hilda. I can't
see you at all, anywhere. What I mean is that I want you to promise
never to see me again, no matter how often I come, no matter how hard I
beg."

Hilda sprang up like a flame. She stood over him with her hands clenched
at her side, her body rigid.

"No!" she gasped. "It's too late to ask that. Do you hear me, Bartley?
It's too late. I won't promise. It's abominable of you to ask me. Keep
away if you wish; when have I ever followed you? But, if you come to me,
I'll do as I see fi