Terry returned to Deane in the sitting room after bidding her father and mother a courteously friendly farewell. Mr. Hunter, vaguely disturbed, had followed his wife upstairs reluctantly; he was not quite confident that his decision regarding the fox skin had been justified, and would have been glad had Terry given him opportunity to discuss it. In a moment his voice sounded down to them as he defended himself against his irate spouse. "I don't care what you say, Marthy, he's got to settle down and--" Then their door closed. For a long time Deane and Terry stood voiceless, each leaden with a dull misery. The shock of his announcement had paled her and she stared hopelessly at him out of wide blue eyes, her full red lips aquiver at the hurt she read in the gray eyes and the queer wistful mouth. She broke the pulsing silence: "I never understand you, Dick,--quite. Is it because of the fox skin?" He shook his head uncertainly, barely conscious of her words in a last rapt gaze at her, vaguely aware that this was the picture of her that he would carry in his mind through the years to come. Rounded, long of lines, apart from him she looked as tall as he, though there was a two inch discrepancy; the wide eyes and generous, curved mouth indicated her infinite capacity for affection. The shadow of a dimple flickered high on her left cheek: the quickened beat of heart pulsed in the white column of her throat. "Is it because you hate the town, Dick?" she asked tremulously. Again he shook his head slowly: "No, Deane, it is not that. The town is all right--it is not that." He paused, brooding, then went on: "Last night I did not sleep--much--thinking about it. It's all my fault.... I do not fit. So I am going away, going to try to find my own place, somehow." Tortured by his patient smile, she followed him out into the dim hall, half blinded by her burning tears. She sobbed unrestrainedly as he slipped into his overcoat. He came to her, his hand outstretched, his voice husky. "Good-by, Deane-girl," he said. Taking his hand she stepped close to him, misty-eyed, atremble. "Good-by, Di--Oh, Dick! Don't go! Don't go way over to those awful Islands!" He steadied her with an arm about the shaking shoulders. She leaned full against him and in the soft contact his pulses leaped. He fought to resist the temptation to take advantage of her mood, knew that for the moment she was his if he but pressed his claim. Suddenly she looked up at him, glorious in her grief and surrender. "Shall I--do you want me to--to--wait?" For a few moments it seemed that he had not heard the low voice. Then: "Don't wait, Deane-girl,--don't wait." Then the arm was gone from about her shoulder. "But I will, Dick, I will!" she sobbed, but as the words fell from her lips she heard the door close and felt the gust of cold air that chilled the hall. * * * * *