Thor. I'm not
sure that I love this one. I don't know. Perhaps I do. I can't tell till
I get away from you. Let me go. It may not be for long."

She stepped back from him toward the window of her room, through which
she seemed about to pass. He was obliged to speak in order to retain
her.

"Look here, Lois," he began, not knowing exactly how he meant to
continue. She turned with a foot on the threshold, her hand on the knob
of the open window-door. The pose, set off by the simplicity of the old
black evening dress she was in the habit of wearing when they were
alone, displayed the commanding beauty of her figure to a degree which
he had never observed before. He remembered afterward that something
shot through him, something he had associated hitherto only with
memories of little Rosie Fay, but for the minute he was too intensely
preoccupied for more than a subconscious attention. She was waiting and
he must say something to justify his appeal to her. "It's all right,"
were the words he found. "I'm willing. That is, I'm willing in
principle. Only"--he stammered on--"only I don't want you to go roaming
the country by yourself. Why not let me go? I could go away for a while,
and you could stay here." He warmed to the idea as soon as he began to
express it. "This is your home, rather than mine. It's your father's
house. You've lived in it for years. I couldn't stay here without
you--while you're used to it without me. I'll go. I'll go--and I'll not
come back till you tell me. There. Will that do?"

The advantages of the arrangement were evident. She answered slowly.
"It--it might. But what about your patients?"

"Oh, Hill would look after them. He said he would if I wanted to attend
the medical congress at Minneapolis. I told him I didn't, but--but"--he
tapped the rail to emphasize the timeliness of the idea--"but, by
George! I'll do it. You'd have three weeks at least--and as many more as
you ask for."

She gave the suggestion a minute's thought. "Very well, Thor. Since the
congress is going on--and your time wouldn't be altogether thrown
away--You see, all I want is a little quiet--a little solitude,
perhaps--just to realize where I am--and to see how--to begin again--if
we ever can."

She closed one side of the window, softly and slowly. Her hands were on
the other _battant_ when he uttered a little throaty cry. "Aren't you
going to say good night?"

Standing on the low step of the window, she was sufficiently