for the appearance of this girl,--his
wife? This moment,--her moment?

Fight? With tooth and nail, with all the cunning and ingenuity of a
member of the female species to protect what she regarded as her own.
She and her plan against the world,--that was what it was. Thank God,
Martin was not in sight. She had a free hand.

She had not been seen. A thick honeysuckle growing up the pillar had
hidden her. She slipped into the house quickly, her heart beating in
her throat. "I'll try this," said Harry. "Wait here." He left Joan
within a few feet of the stoop, went up the two steps, and not finding
a bell, knocked on the screen door. In less than an instant he saw the
girl with bobbed hair come forward. "I'm sorry to trouble you," he
said, with a little bow, "I thought Mr. Gray might live here," and
turned to go. Obviously it was the wrong house.

Very clearly and distinctly Tootles spoke. "Mr. Gray does live here.
I'm Mrs. Gray. Will you leave a message?"

Harry wheeled round. He felt that the bullet which had gone through his
back had lodged in Joan's heart. He opened his mouth to speak but no
word came. And Tootles spoke again, even more clearly and distinctly.
She intended that her voice should travel.

"My husband won't be back for several days," she said, "but I shall be
very glad to tell him that you called if you will leave your name."

"It--it doesn't matter," said Harry, stammering. After an irresolute,
unhappy pause, he turned to go--

He went straight to Joan. She was standing with her eyes shut and both
hands on her heart, as white as a white rose. She looked like a young
slim tree that had been struck by lightning.

"Joan," he said, "Joan," and touched her arm. There was no answer.

"Joan," he said, "Joany."

And with a little sob she tottered forward.

He caught her, blazing with anger that she had been so hurt,
inarticulate with indignation and a huge sympathy, and with the one
strong desire to get her away from that place, picked her up in his
arms,--a dead delicious weight,--and carried her down the incline of
sand and undergrowth to his car, put her in ever so gently, got in
himself, backed the machine out, turned it and drove away.

And Tootles, breathing hard and shaking, stood on the edge of the
stoop, and with tears streaming down her face, watched the car become a
speck and disappear.

XI

The sun had gone down, and the last of its lingering glory had died
before the yawl m