ngs up
where he had dropped them. But there was a hard friendliness in it that
was like a slap in the face. He had meant at least to fight to win back
with her, but he saw now that there would not even be a fight. She was
not angry or hurt. The barrier was more hopeless than that.

David, watching him, waited until Harrison had gone, and went directly
to the subject.

"Have you ever stopped to think what these last months have meant to
Elizabeth? Her own worries, and always this infernal town, talking,
talking. The child's pride's been hurt, as well as her heart."

"I thought I'd better not go into that until after--until later,"
he explained. "The other thing was wrong. I knew it the moment I saw
Beverly and I didn't go back again. What was the use? But--you saw her
face, David. I think she doesn't even care enough to hate me."

"She's cared enough to engage herself to Wallace Sayre!"

After one astounded glance Dick laughed bitterly.

"That looks as though she cared!" he said. He had gone very white. After
a time, as David sat silent and thoughtful, he said: "After all, what
right had I to expect anything else? When you think that, a few days
ago, I was actually shaken at the thought of seeing another woman, you
can hardly blame her."

"She waited a long time."

Later Dick made what was a difficult confession under the circumstances.

"I know now--I think I knew all along, but the other thing was like that
craving for liquor I told you about--I know now that she has always
been the one woman. You'll understand that, perhaps, but she wouldn't.
I would crawl on my knees to make her believe it, but it's too late.
Everything's too late," he added.

Before the hour for the services he went in again and sat by Lucy's bed,
but she who had given him wise counsel so many times before lay in her
majestic peace, surrounded by flowers and infinitely removed. Yet she
gave him something. Something of her own peace. Once more, as on the
night she had stood at the kitchen door and watched him disappear in the
darkness, there came the tug of the old familiar things, the home sense.
Not only David now, but the house. The faded carpet on the stairs, the
old self-rocker Lucy had loved, the creaking faucets in the bathroom,
Mike and Minnie, the laboratory,--united in their shabby strength, they
were home to him. They had come back, never to be lost again. Home.

Then, little by little, they carried their claim further. They we