Rose-Ann had composed her letter with difficulty. At the last moment, interfering with a perfectly clear statement of the case to him, had come a distaste for proposing herself as any man’s mistress—even her husband’s.... She must put it in such a way that he would understand her willingness. He would understand, too, why she had failed before. It was her apologia.... And if they lived apart, and—didn’t want to have other love-affairs, then they would both be sure that it wasn’t her fault. Doubtless she had been rather silly about it. He hadn’t really been in love with Phyllis.... It would be possible to go back to him, now. By that letter she had exorcised that ghastly cry that had kept ringing in her ears, night and day—“_You didn’t mean it after all!_” She could sleep, now. She slept.... But why didn’t his answer come? The mails were uncertain. His letter might be in the post-office now. It would be delivered tomorrow morning. She packed for her return journey, and slept again, peacefully. His letter came, and her father presented it to her with his wise smile. She took it to her room and tore it open. _Rose-Ann, I think it had better be all over for good. I want you to have the studio. I will go somewhere else._ _Felix._ 4 Incredulous, with that letter burning her flesh, tearing and rasping at her heart where she had thrust it into the bosom of her dress, she made the journey to Chicago. “_All over ... all over ... all over...._” She could not understand it. Felix was not in the studio. She called him up at the office. He was not there. Was he with Phyllis? She waited. Three days. “Well,” she said aloud to the empty studio. “It’s true. It is all over.” She went back to the Motion Picture World, gave some explanation of her absence, and started in making up the magazine. “You know,” said Bodger, the editor, “we’re considering moving out to California in the course of the next few months. Los Angeles. Might as well be on the spot.... I don’t suppose you’d consider coming along with us?” “Oh, I might!” said Rose-Ann. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LIV. The God and the Pedestal 1 FOR some hours after sending his reply to Rose-Ann, Felix kept his mind steeled against any realization of its consequences. He was in a peculiar state of righteousness—like one who has struck a fatal blow and keeps insisting that he has been struck first. To him, his letter to Rose-Ann appeared but the reflex of her own—and she, as it were, the author of both letters. Yes, the crime was hers!