The last two days of the voyage Bartleyfound almost intolerable. The stop atQueenstown, the tedious passage up the Mersey,were things that he noted dimly through hisgrowing impatience. He had planned to stopin Liverpool; but, instead, he took the boattrain for London.

Emerging at Euston at half-past threeo'clock in the afternoon, Alexander had hisluggage sent to the Savoy and drove at onceto Bedford Square. When Marie met him atthe door, even her strong sense of theproprieties could not restrain her surpriseand delight. She blushed and smiled and fumbledhis card in her confusion before she ranupstairs. Alexander paced up and down thehallway, buttoning and unbuttoning his overcoat,until she returned and took him up to Hilda'sliving-room. The room was empty when he entered.A coal fire was crackling in the grate andthe lamps were lit, for it was alreadybeginning to grow dark outside. Alexanderdid not sit down. He stood his groundover by the windows until Hilda came in.She called his name on the threshold, but inher swift flight across the room she felt achange in him and caught herself up so deftlythat he could not tell just when she did it.She merely brushed his cheek with her lips andput a hand lightly and joyously on either shoulder. "Oh, what a grand thing to happen on araw day! I felt it in my bones when I wokethis morning that something splendid wasgoing to turn up. I thought it might be SisterKate or Cousin Mike would be happening along.I never dreamed it would be you, Bartley.But why do you let me chatter on like this?Come over to the fire; you're chilled through."

She pushed him toward the big chair by the fire,and sat down on a stool at the opposite sideof the hearth, her knees drawn up to her chin,laughing like a happy little girl.

"When did you come, Bartley, and howdid it happen? You haven't spoken a word."

"I got in about ten minutes ago. I landedat Liverpool this morning and came down onthe boat train."

Alexander leaned forward and warmed his handsbefore the blaze. Hilda watched him with perplexity.

"There's something troubling you, Bartley. What is it?"

Bartley bent lower over the fire. "It's thewhole thing that troubles me, Hilda. You and I."

Hilda took a quick, soft breath. Shelooked at his heavy shoulders and big,determined head, thrust forward likea catapult in leash.

"What about us, Bartley?" she asked in athin voice.

He locked and unlocked his hands overthe grate and spread his fingers close to thebluish flame, while the coals crackled and theclock ticked and a street vendor began to callunder the window. At last Alexander broughtout one word:--

"Everything!"

Hilda was pale by this time, and hereyes were wide with fright. She looked aboutdesperately from Bartley to the door, then tothe windows, and back again to Bartley. Sherose uncertainly, touched his hair with herhand, then sank back upon her stool.

"I'll do anything you wish me to, Bartley,"she said tremulously. "I can't standseeing you miserable."

"I can't live with myself any longer,"he answered roughly.

He rose and pushed the chair behind himand began to walk miserably about the room,seeming to find it too small for him.He pulled up a window as if the air were heavy.

Hilda watched him from her corner,trembling and scarcely breathing, dark shadowsgrowing about her eyes.

"It . . . it hasn't always made you miserable,has it?" Her eyelids fell and her lips quivered.

"Always. But it's worse now. It's unbearable.It tortures me every minute."

"But why NOW?" she asked piteously,wringing her hands.

He ignored her question. "I am not aman who can live two lives," he went onfeverishly. "Each life spoils the other.I get nothing but misery out of either.The world is all there, just as it used to be,but I can't get at it any more. There is thisdeception between me and everything."

At that word "deception," spoken with suchself-contempt, the color flashed back intoHilda's face as suddenly as if she had beenstruck by a whiplash. She bit her lipand looked down at her hands, which wereclasped tightly in front of her.

"Could you--could you sit down and talkabout it quietly, Bartley, as if I werea friend, and not some one who had to be defied?"

He dropped back heavily into his chair bythe fire. "It was myself I was defying, Hilda.I have thought about it until I am worn out."

He looked at her and his haggard face softened.He put out his hand toward her as he looked awayagain into the fire.

She crept across to him, drawing herstool after her. "When did you first begin tofeel like this, Bartley?"

"After the very first. The first was--sort of in play, wasn't it?"

Hilda's face quivered, but she whispered:"Yes, I think it must have been. But why didn'tyou tell me when you were here in the summer?"

Alexander groaned. "I meant to, but somehowI couldn't. We had only a few days,and your new play was just on, and you were so happy."

"Yes, I was happy, wasn't I?" She pressedhis hand gently in gratitude."Weren't you happy then, at all?"

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath,as if to draw in again the fragrance ofthose days. Something of their troublingsweetness came back to Alexander, too.He moved uneasily and his chair creaked.

"Yes, I was then. You know. But afterward. . ."

"Yes, yes," she hurried, pulling her hand gentlyaway from him. Presently it stole back to his coat sleeve."Please tell me one thing, Bartley. At least,tell me that you believe I thought I was making you happy."

His hand shut down quickly over thequestioning fingers on his sleeves."Yes, Hilda; I know that," he said simply.

She leaned her head against his arm and spoke softly:--

"You see, my mistake was in wanting you tohave everything. I wanted you to eat allthe cakes and have them, too. I somehowbelieved that I could take all the badconsequences for you. I wanted you always to behappy and handsome and successful--to haveall the things that a great man ought to have,and, once in a way, the careless holidays thatgreat men are not permitted."

Bartley gave a bitter little laugh, andHilda looked up and read in the deepeninglines of his face that youth and Bartleywould not much longer struggle together.

"I understand, Bartley. I was wrong. But Ididn't know. You've only to tell me now.What must I do that I've not done, or whatmust I not do?" She listened intently, but sheheard nothing but the creaking of his chair."You want me to say it?" she whispered."You want to tell me that you can only seeme like this, as old friends do, or out in theworld among people? I can do that."

"I can't," he said heavily.

Hilda shivered and sat still. Bartley leanedhis head in his hands and spoke through his teeth."It's got to be a clean break, Hilda.I can't see you at all, anywhere.What I mean is that I want you topromise never to see me again,no matter how often I come, no matter how hard I beg."

Hilda sprang up like a flame. She stoodover him with her hands clenched at her side,her body rigid.

"No!" she gasped. "It's too late to ask that.Do you hear me, Bartley? It's too late.I won't promise. It's abominable of you to ask me.Keep away if you wish; when have I ever followed you?But, if you come to me, I'll do as I see fit.The shamefulness of your asking me to do that!If you come to me, I'll do as I see fit.Do you understand? Bartley, you're cowardly!"

Alexander rose and shook himself angrily. "Yes, I know I'm cowardly. I'm afraid of myself.I don't trust myself any more. I carried it alllightly enough at first, but now I don't dare trifle with it.It's getting the better of me. It's different now.I'm growing older, and you've got my young self here with you.It's through him that I've come to wish for you alland all the time." He took her roughly in his arms."Do you know what I mean?"

Hilda held her face back from him and beganto cry bitterly. "Oh, Bartley, what am I to do?Why didn't you let me be angry with you?You ask me to stay away from you becauseyou want me! And I've got nobody but you.I will do anything you say--but that!I will ask the least imaginable,but I must have SOMETHING!"

Bartley turned away and sank down in his chair again.Hilda sat on the arm of it and put her hands lightlyon his shoulders.

"Just something Bartley. I must have you to think ofthrough the months and months of loneliness.I must see you. I must know about you.The sight of you, Bartley, to see you livingand happy and successful--can I nevermake you understand what that means to me?"She pressed his shoulders gently."You see, loving some one as I love youmakes the whole world different.If I'd met you later, if I hadn't loved you so well--but that's all over, long ago. Then came allthose years without you, lonely and hurtand discouraged; those decent young fellowsand poor Mac, and me never heeding--hard asa steel spring. And then you came back, notcaring very much, but it made no difference."

She slid to the floor beside him, as if shewere too tired to sit up any longer. Bartleybent over and took her in his arms, kissingher mouth and her wet, tired eyes.

"Don't cry, don't cry," he whispered."We've tortured each other enough for tonight. Forget everything except that I am here."

"I think I have forgotten everything butthat already," she murmured. "Ah, your dear arms!"