lsa to speak hurriedly. "Good-by until
to-morrow."

She gave him her hand for a moment, stepped into the carriage, which
already held Martha and the luggage, and then drove off to the Strand
Hotel.

He stood with his helmet in his hand. A fine warm rain was falling,
but he was not conscious of it. It seemed incredible that time should
produce such a change within the space of seventy hours, a little more,
a little less. As she turned and waved a friendly hand, he knew that
the desolation which had been his for ten years was nothing as compared
to that which now fell upon his heart. She was as unattainable as the
north star; and nothing, time nor circumstance, could bridge that
incalculable distance. She was the most exquisite contradiction; in
one moment the guilelessness of a child, in another, the worldly-wise
woman. Had she been all of the one or all of the other, he would not
have been touched so deeply. If she loved a man, there would be no
silly doddering; the voice of the petty laws that strove to hedge her
in would be in her ears as a summer breeze. For one so young--and
twenty-five was young--she possessed a disconcerting directness in her
logic. So far he observed that she retained but one illusion, that
somewhere in the world there was a man worth loving. His heart hurt
him. He must see her no more after the morrow. Enchantment and
happiness were two words which fate had ruthlessly scratched from his
book of days.

Mr. Hooghly had already started off toward the town, the kit-bag and
the valise slung across his shoulders, the parrot-cage bobbing at his
side. He knew where to go; an obscure lodging for men in the heart of
the business section, known in jest by the derelicts as The Stranded.

Warrington, becoming suddenly aware that his pose, if prolonged, would
become ridiculous, put on his helmet and proceeded to the Bank of
Burma. To-day was Wednesday; Thursday week he would sail for Singapore
and close the chapter. Before banking hours were over, his financial
affairs were put in order, and he walked forth with two letters of
credit and enough bank-notes and gold to carry him around the world, if
so he planned. Next, he visited a pawn-shop and laid down a dozen
mutilated tickets, receiving in return a handsome watch, emerald
cuff-buttons, some stick-pins, some pearls, and a beautiful old ruby
ring, a gift of the young Maharajah of Udaipur. The ancient Chinaman
smiled. This was a rare