l do
nothing violent nor disagreeable. I want five minutes, at your house,
in the Park--anywhere. Though I would prefer to see you alone, I would
consent to the presence of your aunt. But you must see me!"

"I must see you," she repeated--musingly he thought--"Aunt Paula is
away."

"Could you come at once to that Eighty-sixth Street entrance of the
Park?"

A pause, and--

"I will come," she said.

"Good-by--at once," he answered, and hung up the receiver, without
further word. Outside, he hurled himself into a taxicab. Spurred on by
an offer of an extra dollar for speed, the chauffeur raced north.

Annette was sitting on a bench by the Park gate. Not until he had paid
and dismissed the chauffeur did she look up. She wore a smile, which
faded as she caught his expression. With its fading came the old, worn
look; he had never, even at that first meeting on the train, seen it
more pronounced. A flood of perverse tenderness came over him; he found
himself obliged to steel his heart. And so, it was Annette who spoke
first:

"What is the matter--oh, what has happened?"

He stood towering over her.

"Miss Markham, I came to ask a simple question. Do not be afraid to
tell me the truth. What did you do last night?"

"What did I do last night?" she repeated. "Why do you ask?"

"Answer, please. Where were you last night--what did you do?"

"Why do you ask that?"

"It will be better, I assure you," he replied, "if you do not act with
me."

"You have never seemed harsh before--"

"Will you answer me?"

A blush ran over her exquisite whiteness.

"I have to remember," she said, "that perhaps I once gave you the right
to ask such things of me. Last night I went to bed just after dinner."

"Exactly when?"

"A little after eight. I have been tired lately. Aunt Paula saw that I
went to sleep."

"Is that all?" sharply.

"Why, yes. I slept heavily. The old sleep. The one which leaves me
tired."

"You did not get up?"

"I am beginning to question your right to--"

"But answer me--_Did you wake?_"

"No. I slept until seven this morning. Walter, Walter--" she had never
used his Christian name before, and at the moment it struck him only as
one of her Circe arts--"you are cruel! What do you mean by this? Why do
you trouble me so?"

Now that she had lied in his face, he felt the blood surging scarlet
behind his eyes. It came to him that, if he remained a moment longer,
he should lose all control. Without ano