on sufferance, if you were honestly in love with a man that
I felt was halfway decent, I'd put my feelings in my pocket and let you
go. If you cared enough for him to break every tie, to face the
embarrassment of divorce, why, I'd figure you were entitled to your
freedom and whatever happiness it might bring. But Monohan--hell, I
don't want to talk about him. I trust you, Stella. I'm banking on your
own good sense. And along with that good, natural common sense, you've
got so many illusions. About life in general, and about men. They seem
to have centered about this one particular man. I can't open your eyes
or put you on the right track. That's a job for yourself. All I can do
is to sit back and wait."

His voice trailed off huskily.

Stella put a hand on his shoulder.

"Do you care so much as all that, Jack?" she whispered. "Even in spite
of what you know?"

"For two years now," he answered, "you've been the biggest thing in my
life. I don't change easy; I don't want to change. But I'm getting
hopeless."

"I'm sorry, Jack," she said. "I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am.
I didn't love you to begin with--"

"And you've always resented that," he broke in. "You've hugged that
ghost of a loveless marriage to your bosom and sighed for the real
romance you'd missed. Well, maybe you did. But you haven't found it yet.
I'm very sure of that, although I doubt if I could convince you."

"Let me finish," she pleaded. "You knew I didn't love you--that I was
worn out and desperate and clutching at the life line you threw. In
spite of that,--well, if I fight down this love, or fascination, or
infatuation, or whatever it is,--I'm not sure myself, except that it
affects me strongly,--can't we be friends again?"

"Friends! Oh, hell!" Fyfe exploded.

He came up out of his chair with a blaze in his eyes that startled her,
caught her by the arm, and thrust her out the door.

"Friends? You and I?" He sank his voice to a harsh whisper. "My
God--friends! Go to bed. Good night."

He pushed her into the hall, and the lock clicked between them. For one
confused instant Stella stood poised, uncertain. Then she went into her
bedroom and sat down, her keenest sensation one of sheer relief. Already
in those brief hours emotion had well-nigh exhausted her. To be alone,
to lie still and rest, to banish thought,--that was all she desired.

She lay on her bed inert, numbed, all but her mind, and that traversed
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