misread what was written in his face.

"Arnold!" she murmured. "Oh, Arnold!"

He was a little startled. It was as though tragedy had been let
loose in the room.

"Why do you look at me like that, dear?" he cried. "Is there
anything so terrible to tell me? What have I done?"

"God knows!" she answered. "Don't come any nearer for a moment. I
want to look at you."

She was leaning out from her chair. It was true, indeed, that at
that moment some sort of fear had drained all the beauty from her
face, though her eyes shone still like fierce stars.

"You have gone, Arnold," she moaned. "You have slipped away. You are
lost to me."

"You foolish person!" he exclaimed, stepping towards her. "Never in
my life! Never!"

She laid her hand upon the stick which leaned against her chair.

"Not yet," she implored. "Don't come to me yet. Stay there where I
can see your face. Now tell me--tell me everything."

He laughed, not altogether easily, with a note half of resentment,
half of protest.