He stopped her with an abrupt gesture. 'I've won this victory for Kitty's sake,' he said. 'This is the first time in my life I've lived up to her hope of me. If you were a failure you'd realize how much that means.' She was standing by the vase of roses, scattering petals with ruthless fingers. She crossed over to him and put both her hands in his. 'You're not a failure, John Scidmore,' she said simply. The rose-petals were dropping in a steady shower on the table. He saw them lying lightly on the white glove. He felt a great relief as he put his clenched hand to his eyes. V As John Scidmore rode home he felt desperately tired. He could not remember a day which had seemed longer. He dragged up the elm-shaded street, down which he had whistled his confident way twelve hours before, a shuffling, ineffectual figure. As he opened the front door his hand shook. He lingered in the hall, hanging his hat with unnecessary care, twisting his necktie into shape, smoothing the thin wisps of hair about his temples. He found Kitty in the living-room. A tiny fire crackled in the grate. Standing in the doorway he watched the needle which Kitty deftly plied slipping about its task with fascinating gleams. Her face was happily flushed and she was humming softly to herself. The elegant memory of Julia Norris rose before him. He saw again the golden shower of light from the huge table-lamp, the vase of American Beauty roses, the lace scarf thrown carelessly across a brocade chair. He pressed his lips together and entered the room. Kitty looked up. He stopped short. 'Something new?' he ventured. She gave a little laugh. 'New? I should say not. Just freshening up a bit for to-morrow.' 'To-morrow?' he echoed dully. 'What's on for to-morrow?' 'Guest day at the club. Mrs. Wiley has asked me to pour tea. What kept you out so late, Johnny?' He crossed over to the fire, pulling his easy chair into place. 'I went over to the city--to see Julia Norris.' He stood a moment, undecided, his back turned toward Kitty, his hand upon the chair. He was waiting for Kitty to question him. Finding that she did not answer, he turned and looked at her. She was intent on her sewing, but he fancied that the flush of happiness suddenly had fled her cheeks. 'I went over to see Julia Norris,' he repeated desperately. 'You said your advice wouldn't be necessary.' He sank into a chair. Across the room he heard the monotonous ticking of a clock. He was wondering what Kitty would say. Of course she understood; the whiteness of her face told him that her feminine intuition had bridged the gaps in his explanation. He began to have a terror lest she would come up to him, or speak--perhaps even weep. The fire in the grate flared up suddenly, turned faintly blue, and died. Still Kitty said nothing; still the clock ticked rhythmically.