Yet he could do nothing now but treat it as a recurrence of her old fits of childish petulance. If, by some unaccountable chance, there was any finality in this step of hers, and her motive was to break off their old blameless intimacy, he would watch over her from afar. There was no malice in his heart for her. Nobody could make him believe a story, the truth of which would be unworthy of her. Yet the dim, persistent sense of dissatisfaction which he tried so hard to stifle, under a rush of work and recreation, would not vanish. Time, which he filled with the fever of his literary passion, together with keeping in touch with a few old friends, had become so strained, so intense, that in spite of the firm strength he had, the inordinate will, sheer physical weariness conquered, the tense nerves for a time relaxed. It was in the latter part of April that Richmond Briarley happened to stop in a flower store to order a palm for some friend. At the counter stood a slender girl. There was something very unusual about her or he would not have given her a moment’s thought, nor the second look. Her hair swept back in deep waves from her brow, under the wide, soft hat. The dark blue of her eyes seemed to gently motion as she looked at the delicate orchids the clerk held across to her. “That’s what I want.” Then she turned away as he went to wrap them for her. She felt a sudden swelling of the heart, as she faced Richmond Briarley. “How do you do, Miss Powel,” he said in acknowledgment of her recognition. “I have quite lost track of you since our friend Andrews has been ill. You’ll be glad to know his doctor now thinks he may pull through.” “Mr. Glenn ill--dangerously ill?” She was white to the lips. The look on her face he would never forget while he lived. “Where? Where?” she said, eagerly clasping her hands. “Let me go to him.” “He has someone--you can do nothing. She does everything.” He said very little beyond the bare statement, but his answer added to the pain of her wound. There was nothing she could do. This was the bitterest, cruelest thought--she was not needed--she who would have died to spare him pain. Richmond Briarley knew what it meant; his heart was touched for her. “I’m going to see him now, if you care to send him a word.” “Tell him how sorry I am, and would you take these flowers to him--orchids are his favorite flowers. I was going to wear them to a musicale to-night.” “Certainly I will take them.” “Wait just a minute.” She took the pencil of her chatelaine and wrote her new address on the box; her fingers were trembling, so she doubted if he would recognize her signature. She smiled a little as he lifted his hat, when he bade her good-by. Pride was a matter of principle with her. What she suffered in the days that came after could not be told. It was early in May before Glenn was able to be out again. To see Esther was one of his first visits. She greeted him with a grave, solicitous face.