ak in us. If you care for him now--if you could ever care
for him, take him as you took him first.... Do you want him again?"

She stood leaning against the door, looking down. Much of her colour had
died out.

"I don't know," she said.

"I do."

"Well--_do_ I?"

"Yes."

"You think so? Why?"

"Because he's adrift, too. And he's rather weak, rather handsome, easily
influenced--unjust, selfish, vain, wayward--just the average husband.
And every wife ought to be able to manage these lords of creation, and
keep them out of harm.... And keep them in love, Rosalie. And the way to
do it is the way you did it first.... Try it." He kissed her gaily,
thinking he owed that much to himself.

And through the door which had swung gently ajar, Geraldine Seagrave saw
them, and Rosalie saw her.

For a moment the girl halted, pale and rigid, and her heart seemed to
cease its beating; then, as she passed with averted head, Rosalie caught
Duane's wrists in her jewelled grasp and released herself with a
wrench.

"You've given me enough to think over," she said. "If you want me to
love you, stay--and close that door--and we'll see what happens. If you
don't--you had better go at once, Duane. And leave my door open--to see
what else fate will send me." She clasped her hands behind her back,
laughing nervously.

"It's like the old child's game--'open your mouth and close your eyes
and see what God will send you?'--usually something not at all
resembling the awaited bonbon.... Good-bye, my altruistic friend--and
thank you for your XXth Century advice, and your Louis XVI assistance."

"Good-bye," he returned smilingly, and sauntered back toward his room
where his own untried finery awaited him.

Ahead, far down the corridor, he caught sight of Geraldine, and called
to her, but perhaps she did not hear him for he had to put on
considerable speed to overtake her.

"In these last few days," he said laughingly, "I seldom catch a glimpse
of you except when you are vanishing into doorways or down corridors."

She said nothing, did not even turn her head or halt; and, keeping pace
with her, he chatted on amiably about nothing in particular until she
stopped abruptly and looked at him.

"I am in a hurry. What is it you want, Duane?"

"Why--nothing," he said in surprise.

"That is less than you ask of--others." And she turned to continue her
way.

"Is there anything wrong, Geraldine?" he asked, detaining her.

"Is there?" she