aring
a hat.

"Yes, I am, Harry."

"Where? Why?"

She laid her hand on his arm. "Don't grudge Gilbert one evening,--his
last. I've been perfectly rotten to him all along."

"Palgrave? Are you going out with Palgrave?"

"Yes, to dine somewhere. I want to, Harry, oh, for lots of reasons. You
know one. Don't stop me." Her voice broke a little.

"But not with Palgrave."

"Why?"

"I saw him dodge out of the telephone room a minute ago. He
looked--queer. Don't go, Joan."

"I must," she said and went to the door. He was after her and caught
hold of her arm.

"Joan, don't go. I don't want you to."

"I must," she said again. "Surely you can understand? I have to get
away from myself."

"But won't I do?"

"It's Gilbert's turn," she said. "Let go, Harry dear." It was good to
know that she hadn't hurt this boy.

"I don't like it. Please stay," but he let her go, and watched her down
the steps and into the car, with unaccountable misgiving. He had seen
Gilbert's face.

And he saw it again under the strong light of the entrance--triumphant.

For minutes after the car had gone, with a wave from Joan, he stood
still, with an icy hand on his heart.

"I don't like it," he repeated. "I wish to God I'd had the right to
stop her."

She thought that he didn't love her, and he had done his best to obey.
But he did love her, more than Martin, it seemed, more than Gilbert, he
thought, and by this time she was well on her way to--what?

PART FOUR

THE PAYMENT

I

It was one of those golden evenings that sometimes follows a hot clear
day--one of those rare evenings which linger in the memory when summer
has slipped away and which come back into the mind like a smile, an
endearment or a broad sweet melody, renewing optimism and replenishing
faith. The sun had gone, but its warm glow lingered in a sky that was
utterly unspotted. The quiet unruffled trees in all the rich green of
early maturity stood out against it almost as though they were painted
on canvas. The light was so true that distances were brought up to the
eye. Far-away sounds came closely to the ear. The murmur from the earth
gathered like that of a multitude of voices responding to prayers.

Palgrave drove slowly. The God-given peace and beauty that lay over
everything quieted the stress and storm of his mind. Somehow, too, with
Joan at his side on the road to the cottage in which he was to play out
the second or the last act of the drama of