ed out against it. Very likely they would never
meet again.

She flew down the hall to the living room. Monohan stood just within
the front door, gazing irresolutely over his shoulder. He took a step or
two to meet her. His clean-cut face was drawn into sullen lines, a deep
flush mantled his cheek.

"Listen," he said tensely. "I've been made to feel like--like--Well, I
controlled myself. I knew it had to be that way. It was unfortunate. I
think we could have been trusted to do the decent thing. You and I were
bred to do that. I've got a little pride. I can't come here again. And I
want to see you once more before I leave here for good. I'll be going
away next week. That'll be the end of it--the bitter finish. Will you
slip down to the first point south of Cougar Bay about three in the
afternoon to-morrow? It'll be the last and only time. He'll have you for
life; can't I talk to you for twenty minutes?"

"No," she whispered forlornly. "I can't do that. I--oh,
good-by--good-by."

"Stella, Stella," she heard his vibrant whisper follow after. But she
ran away through dining room and hall to the bedroom, there to fling
herself face down, choking back the passionate protest that welled up
within her. She lay there, her face buried in the pillow, until the
sputtering exhaust of the Abbey cruiser growing fainter and more faint
told her they were gone.

She heard her husband walk through the house once after that. When
dinner was served, he was not there. It was eleven o'clock by the
time-piece on her mantel when she heard him come in, but he did not come
to their room. He went quietly into the guest chamber across the hall.

She waited through a leaden period. Then, moved by an impulse she did
not attempt to define, a mixture of motives, pity for him, a craving for
the outlet of words, a desire to set herself right before him, she
slipped on a dressing robe and crossed the hall. The door swung open
noiselessly. Fyfe sat slumped in a chair, hat pulled low on his
forehead, hands thrust deep in his pockets. He did not even look up. His
eyes stared straight ahead, absent, unseeingly fixed on nothing. He
seemed to be unconscious of her presence or to ignore it,--she could not
tell which.

"Jack," she said. And when he made no response she said again,
tremulously, that unyielding silence chilling her, "Jack."

He stirred a little, but only to take off his hat and lay it on a table
beside him. With one hand pushing back mech