e window wide, and
stood there.

He looked out over the Thames, and there was a red fire before his eyes.
Stephen was right, he told himself. There was nothing but evil to be
found here, nothing but bitter disappointment, nothing but the pain
which deepens into anguish. Better to remain like Stephen, unloving and
unloved, to draw nearer to the mountains, to find joy in the crops and
the rain and the sunshine, to listen stonily to the cry of human beings
as if to some voice from an unknown world.

He leaned a little further from the window, and gazed into the court at
a dizzy depth below. He had cut himself adrift from the peace which
might have been his. He would never know again the joys of his earlier
life. It was for this that he had fought so many battles, clung so
tightly to one ideal--for Louise, who could show herself to any one who
cared to pay his shilling or his half-guinea, glorying in her dishonor;
worse than glorying in it--finding some subtle humor in the little
gesture with which she had pointed, unashamed, to her lover.

John bent a little lower from the window. A sudden dizziness seemed to
have come over him. Then he was forced to turn around. His door had been
quickly opened and shut. It was Sophy who was crossing toward him, the
rain streaming from her ruined opera-cloak.

"John!" she cried. "Oh, John!"

She led him back to his chair and knelt by his side. She held his hands
tightly.

"You mustn't feel like this," she sobbed; "you mustn't, John, really!
You don't understand. It's all a play. Louise wouldn't really do
anything like that!"

He shivered. Nevertheless, he clutched her hands and drew her closer to
him.

"Do, please, listen to me," she begged. "It's all over. Louise is
herself again--Louise Maurel. The _Marquis de Guy_ never lived except
upon these boards. It is simply a wonderful creation. Any one of the
great actresses would play that part and glory in it--the very greatest,
John. Oh, it's so hard to make you understand! Louise is waiting for
you. They are all waiting at the supper-party. You are expected. You
must go and tell her that you think it was wonderful!"

He rose slowly to his feet.

"Wonderful!" he muttered. "Wonderful! But, child, it is damnable!"

"Don't be foolish," she answered. "Go and put on another dress coat, tie
your tie again, and brush your hair. I have come to take you to the
supper."

He caught at her hands roughly.

"Supposing I won't go?" he whi