When they came to the station he had to wake her. In the train she slept. He scarcely removed his eyes from her. Behind the window he was aware of the shadowy breadth of river, the steep mountains, and the winking, swiftly vanishing lights of towns. It was a return from faery-land, with all the pain of returning. He wasn’t sure of her yet, and he had used all his arguments. Was it always like that? Did girls always say “No” at first? He feared lest in the flare and rush of the city he might lose her. He dreaded the casualness of their telephone engagements--the way she fitted him into the gaps between her pleasures. He wanted to be first in her life--more than that: to be dearer to her than her body, than her soul itself. The permission which she gave him to love her, without hope of reciprocity, was torturing. He would not own it to himself, but at the back of his mind he knew that it was not fair. Once more they were fleeing up Fifth Avenue; night was polluted by the glare of lamps. “It isn’t the same,” she whispered. “It’s somehow different.” “We’ve seen something better and got our perspective.” “Oh, I don’t know,” she laughed. “New York has its uses.” She sat up as they swung into Columbus Circle, and seemed to forget him. She was watching the hoardings for the announcements of _October_, seeing whether Janice Audrey’s name had been blotted out. Already she was slipping from him. The silver wood--had it ever existed? If it had, had they ever walked there? It seemed a dream created by his ardent fancy, too kind and generous for reality. He leant towards her; she drew away from him. “No more pilfering.” “Our good times are always coming to an end,” he said sadly. She smiled at his tone of melancholy. “And beginning; don’t forget that But I do wish it were last night.” “You do! Then, you do wish it could last forever? Dear little D., if you chose, you could make it last.” “Not forever. If anything lasted forever it would make me tired.--Hulloa, here we are.” He helped her to alight The pavement had been swept; there was no excuse for carrying her. “I live here,” she reminded him as he tried to touch her hand; “so let’s behave ourselves.” She was settling back into the old rut of reticence, thinking again more of appearances than affection; even employing her old phrases to defend herself. They stepped from the elevator and she slipped her key into the latch. He was trying to think of one final argument by which he might persuade her. As the door pushed open, they halted; there was a sense of evil in the air. Desire clutched his arm for protection. They listened: panting; a chair falling; silence. Then the panting recommenced. “Mother!” The struggle stopped.