"What?" "Marrying me." "Oh, Clive! They'd tear us to pieces! You couldn't stand it. Neither could I." "But if we--" "Oh, no, no, no!" she protested, "it would utterly ruin you! There was one woman there to-night--very handsome--I knew she was your mother. And I saw the way she looked at me.... It's no use, Clive. Those people _are_ different. They'd never forgive you, and it would ruin you or you'd have to go back to them." "But if we were once married, there _are_ friends of mine who--" "How many? One in a thousand! Oh, Clive, Clive, I know you so well--your family and your pride in them, your position and your security in it, your wide circle of friends, without which circle you would wander like a lost soul--yes, Clive, lost, forlorn, unhappy, even with me!" She lifted her head from his shoulder and sat up, gazing intently straight ahead of her. In her eyes was a lovely azure light; her lips were scarcely parted; and so intent and fixed was her gaze that for a moment he thought she had caught sight of some concrete thing which held her fascinated. But it was only that she "saw clearly" at that moment--something that had come into her field of vision--a passing shape, perhaps, which looked at her with curious, friendly, inquiring eyes,--and went its way between the fire and the young girl who watched it pass with fearless and clairvoyant gaze. "Athalie?" "Yes," she answered as in a dream. "Athalie! What is the matter?" She turned, looked at him almost blindly as her remoter vision cleared. "Clive," she said under her breath, "go home." "What?" "Go home. You are wanted." "_What!!!_" She rose and he stood up, his fascinated eyes never leaving hers. "What were you staring at a moment ago?" he demanded. "What did you--think--you saw?" Her eyes looked straight into his. She went to him and put both arms around his neck. "Dearest," she said "--dearest." And kissed him on the mouth. But he dared not lay one finger on her. The next moment she had his coat, was holding it for him. He took his hat and stick from her, turned and walked to the door, wheeled in his tracks, shivering. And saw her crouched on the sofa, her head buried in her arms. And dared not speak. * * * * * There was an automobile standing in the street before his own house as he turned out of Fifth Avenue; lighted windows everywhere in the house, and the iron grille ajar. He could scarcely fit the latch-key his hands were so unsteady. There were people in the hall, partly clad. He heard his own name in frightened exclamation. "What is it?" he managed to ask. A servant stammered: "Mr. Clive--it's all over, sir. Mrs. Bailey is asking for you, sir." "Is my father--" but he could not go on. "Yes, sir. His man heard him call--once--like he was dreamin' bad. But when he got to him Mr. Bailey was gone.... The doctor has just arrived, sir."