He was seized with panic. They might have gone to the Brevoort, expecting to say good-by to him there. He rushed back.. No one had inquired for him. The laughter of merry-makers in the white-mirrored dining-room was a mockery. He hid himself in his room upstairs--his room which would be a stranger’s to-morrow. Nine! Ten! He sat with his head between his hands. He kept counting from one to a hundred, encouraging himself that the telephone would tinkle before he had completed the century. It did once--a wrong number. He attempted to get on to both the apartment and Fluffy’s a score of times. “They’re out--out--out.” The answer came back with maddening regularity. The telephone operators recognized his anxious voice; they cut him off, as though he were a troublesome child, before he had completed his question. He grew ashamed. At last he grew angry. It wasn’t decent of Desire. He had given her no excuse for the way she was acting. He pulled out his watch. Nearly eleven! Slipping into his coat and picking up his bag, he glanced round the room for the last time. What interminable hours he had wasted there--waiting for her, finding explanations for her, cutting cards to discover by necromancy whether she would marry him! With a sigh that was almost of relief, he opened the door and switched off the light. While his bill was being receipted at the desk, he wrote out a cable to his mother: “_Sailing Christmas Eve. ’Mauretania_” It would reach them as they were sitting down to breakfast to-morrow--a kind of Christmas present. At last he had made the step final. He wondered how far he had paralleled Hal. The comparison should end at this point; he had better things to do than to mope away his life. On arriving at the dock he inquired for letters. He was informed that he would find them on board at the Purser’s office. A long queue of people was drawn up. He took his place impatiently at the end. He told himself that this episode was ended; that from first to last his share had been undignified. Doubtless he would marry her some day; but until she was ready, he would not think about her. He thought of nothing else. Each time the line moved up his heart gave a thump. There might be one from her. He became sure there was one from her. A man named Godfrey, two places ahead, was being served. As the G’s were sorted, he watched sharply; he made certain he had seen a letter in her hand. At last it was his turn. “You have a letter for me. Theodore Gurney.” A minute’s silence. “Nothing, sir.” “But are you sure? I thought I saw one.” “I’ll look again if you like.--Nothing.” He staggered as he walked away. His face was set and white. An old lady touched him gently. “Is the news so bad?” He shook off her kindness and laughed throatily. “News I No, it’s nothing.”