new he was
stealing away and did not tell me."

She could not have made the truth any plainer to him. He sat back in
his chair, stunned, voiceless.

"I am going to my room," she said. "Do not follow. Please act as if
nothing had happened."

He saw her walk bravely the length of the dining-room, out into the
office. What a misfortune! Argument was out of the question. Elsa
was not a child, to be reasoned with. She was a woman, and she had
come to a woman's understanding of her heart. To place before her the
true angles of the case, the heartless banishment from the world she
knew, the regret which would be hers later, no matter how much she
loved the man . . . He pushed back his chair, leaving his coffee
untasted.

He possessed the deep understanding of the kindly heart, and his one
thought was Elsa's future happiness. As men go, Warrington was an
honorable man; honorable enough to run away rather than risk the danger
of staying where Elsa was. He was no longer an outlaw; he could go and
come as he would. But there was that misstep, not printed in shifting
sand but upon the granite of recollection. Single, he could go back to
his world and pick up the threads again, but not with a wife at his
side. Oh, yes; they would be happy at first. Then Elsa would begin to
miss the things she had so gloriously thrown away. The rift in the
lute; the canker in the rose. They were equally well-born, well-bred;
politeness would usurp affection's hold. Could he save her from the
day when she would learn Romance had come from within? No. All he
could do was to help her find the man.

He sent five cablegrams to Saigon, to the consulate, to the principal
hotels: the most difficult composition he had ever attacked. But
because he had forgotten to send the sixth to meet the packet-boat,
against the possibility of Warrington changing his mind and not
landing, his labor was thrown to the winds.

Meantime Elsa stopped at the office-desk. "I left a note for Mr.
Warrington who has gone to Saigon. I see it in his key-box. Will you
please return it to me?"

The clerk did not hesitate an instant. He gravely returned the note to
her, marveling at her paleness. Elsa crushed the note in her hand and
moved toward the stairs, wondering if she could reach her room before
she broke down utterly. He had gone. He had gone without knowing that
all he wanted in life was his for the taking. In her room she opened
the note a