unmarried man--"

"May bind him still--if they're of a certain kind."

"And yours _are_--of a certain kind."

"They're of _that_ kind. I haven't been able to free myself from them.
But don't you think we'd better go in? We can hardly talk about such
things out here."

She bowed to another passing friend. He, too, lifted his hat. When the
friend had gone by she glanced hastily toward the house.

"No, I can't go in," she said, hurriedly. "I'd rather talk out here."

"Very well, then. We can take a stroll in the Park?"

"What? We three?"

"Oh, she's gone--if that's the only reason."

Turning, Edith saw the woman with the rose-colored parasol rapidly
descending the path by which she had come.

[Illustration: He turned from the girl to his wife. "I'm willing to
explain anything you like--as far as I can."]

"I'd still rather stay out here," she said. "If I were to go in, I think
it would--"

"Yes? What?"

"I think it would kill me."

"Oh, come, Edith. Let's face the thing calmly. Don't let us become
hysterical."

"_Am_ I hysterical, Chip?"

"In your own way, yes. Where another woman would make a fuss, you're
unnaturally frozen; but it comes to the same thing. I know that your
heart--"

"Is breaking. Oh, I don't deny that. But I'd rather it broke here than
indoors. I don't know why, but I can stand it here, with people going
by; whereas in there--"

"Oh, cut it, Edith, for God's sake! Can't you see that my heart's
breaking, too?"

She looked him in the face, shaking her head sadly. "No, Chip, I can't
see that. If there had been any danger of it you wouldn't have--"

"But I couldn't help it. That's what you don't seem to understand."

"No; I'm afraid I don't."

"Would you _try_ to understand--if I were to tell you?"

"I think I know already most of what you'd have to say. She's a woman
whom you knew long before you knew me--and from whom you've never been
able--"

"She was the daughter of a Swedish Lutheran pastor--dead
now--established in New Jersey. In some way she drifted to the stage.
Her name was Margarethe Kastenskjold. When she went on the stage she
made it Maggie Clare. She had about as much talent for the theater as a
paper doll. When I first knew her she was still getting odd jobs in
third and fourth rate companies. Since then she hasn't played at all."

"I understand. There's been no need of it. She's quite well dressed."

"Let me go on, will you, Edith? I was about two or three an