self her disappointment on
learning that Ditmar had gone to Boston. She knew he had had no such
intention the night before; an accumulated mail and many matters
demanding decisions were awaiting him; and his sudden departure seemed
an act directed personally against her, in the nature of a retaliation,
since she had offended and repulsed him. Through Lise's degrading act
she had arrived at the conclusion that all adventure and consequent
suffering had to do with Man--a conviction peculiarly maddening to such
temperaments as Janet's. Therefore she interpreted her suffering in
terms of Ditmar, she had looked forward to tormenting him again, and
by departing he had deliberately balked and cheated her. The rain fell
ceaselessly out of black skies, night seemed ever ready to descend on
the river, a darkness--according to young Mr. Caldwell--due not to
the clouds alone, but to forest fires many hundreds of miles away, in
Canada. As the day wore on, however, her anger gradually gave place to
an extreme weariness and depression, and yet she dreaded going home,
inventing things for herself to do; arranging and rearranging Ditmar's
papers that he might have less trouble in sorting them, putting those
uppermost which she thought he would deem the most important. Perhaps
he would come in, late! In a world of impending chaos the brilliantly
lighted office was a tiny refuge to which she clung. At last she put on
her coat and rubbers, faring forth reluctantly into the wet.

At first when she entered the bedroom she thought it empty, though the
gas was burning, and them she saw Lise lying face downward on the bed.
For a moment she stood still, then closed the door softly.

"Lise," she said.

"What?"

Janet sat down on the bed, putting out her hand. Unconsciously she began
to stroke Lise's hand, and presently it turned and tightened on her own.

"Lise," she said, "I understand why you--" she could not bring herself
to pronounce the words "got drunk,"--"I understand why you did it. I
oughtn't to have talked to you that way. But it was terrible to wake up
and see you."

For awhile Lise did not reply. Then she raised herself, feeling her
hair with an involuntary gesture, regarding her sister with a bewildered
look, her face puckered. Her eyes burned, and under them were black
shadows.

"How do you mean--you understand?" she asked slowly. "You never hit the
booze."

Even Lise's language, which ordinarily offended her, failed to ch