er fail her, in the
case of any man? Or was it that her clairvoyance focussed itself on
him? Did she, indeed, actually comprehend her old friend, Opdyke, one
half so clearly as she did himself? Priest though he was, the man in
him had an instant of hoping not.

It was now two years and more, since Olive and Brenton first had met.
In the forced intimacy of a narrow social circle, they had been thrown
together often; the churchly relation between Brenton and his senior
warden had increased the frequency. As a rule, the meetings had been at
the Keltridges'. The doctor liked Scott; Kathryn did not like Olive.
However, though the invitations had been nearly always upon the one
side, in any case, hostess or guest, there had been no way of
eradicating Olive.

Olive and Brenton, then, had met almost constantly, during those last
two years. They had discussed together quite impersonally all things
under the sun and above the moon. Their personal talks had been few and
very short. None the less, Scott Brenton was quite well aware that no
one in the world knew his real self so well as Olive Keltridge. Aware
of it, however, he was fully conscious that the fact caused him no
regrets at all. Catie, as he still called her on occasion, should, of
course, have been the one to comprehend him; but, like the cicada, he
merely iterated "Catie didn't." And comprehension is the primal need of
every man.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Olive found Kathryn Brenton in the extreme of disarray. The littered
room was as unlovely as the careless costume, and Kathryn's personal
grooming matched them both. It really was not her fault, she explained
in fretful apology. She had not expected to see a soul, that morning;
but the maid had given warning all at once, really apropos of nothing,
and was up-stairs, packing. They were such selfish creatures. It was up
and out, at a minute's notice, and you can take care of yourself as
best you can. If she had behaved herself, and not gone off in a
tantrum, she would have been there to open the door, and then Olive
wouldn't have caught her in that old dressing gown she had put on just
for breakfast.

All this was delivered volubly in the front hall, while Kathryn closed
the door behind her guest and then drew down the blinds, by way of
hospitable intimation to any later comers that she was not at home.
That done, she led the way into the living-room, while Olive, at her
heels, registered her impression of any