to her now.

That she had detected faintly the smell of liquor

about him was not the whole reason for her drawing back. He was not
drunk; he was quite himself so far as any influence of that kind was
concerned. Long ago, when he was a young man on the boats, he had
drunk a good deal; he had confessed to her once; but he had not done so
for years. Since she had known him, he had been among the most careful
of her friends; it was for "efficiency" he had said. The drink was
simply a part--indeed, only a small part--of the subtle strangeness and
peculiarity she marked in him. If he had been drinking now, it was,
she knew, no temptation, no capricious return to an old appetite. If
not appetite, then it was for the effect--to brace himself. Against
what? Against the thing for which he had prepared himself when she
came upon him?

As she stared at him, the clerk's voice came to her suddenly over the
partition which separated the office from the larger room where the
clerk was receiving some message over the telephone. Henry
straightened, listened; as the voice stopped, his great, finely shaped
head sank between his shoulders; he fumbled in his pocket for a cigar,
and his big hands shook as he lighted it, without word of excuse to
her. A strange feeling came to her that he felt what he dreaded
approaching and was no longer conscious of her presence.

She heard footsteps in the larger room coming toward the office door.
Henry was in suspense. A rap came at the door. He whitened and took
the cigar from his mouth and wet his lips.

"Come in," he summoned.

One of the office girls entered, bringing a white page of paper with
three or four lines of purple typewriting upon it which Constance
recognized must be a transcript of a message just received.

She started forward at sight of it, forgetting everything else; but he
took the paper as though he did not know she was there. He merely held
it until the girl had gone out; even then he stood folding and
unfolding it, and his eyes did not drop to the sheet.

The girl had said nothing at all but, having seen her, Constance was
athrill; the girl had not been a bearer of bad news, that was sure; she
brought some sort of good news! Constance, certain of it, moved nearer
to Henry to read what he held. He looked down and read.

"What is it, Henry?"

His muscular reaction, as he read, had drawn the sheet away from her;
he recovered himself almost instantly and gav