She knew his moods, and of their depth more at this interview than ever before, and yet still in no wise fathomed them. He stopped, twisted in mind and in face with his efforts, and she (his moods unplumbed) laughed, thinking to rally him, and said: "Why, no, it's no good calling yourself names to me, Phil." He broke out more savagely than he had yet spoken, and he had been violent enough: "That's what I'm telling you. No good--no good! You'd laugh. You're laughing now. Everybody laughs. I'm lucky!--so successful!--so happy!--no cares!--no ties!--no troubles! Other people have bad times!--others are ill!--breakdowns and God knows what, and responsibilities, and burdens, and misfortunes! but me!--I've all the luck--I've everything!--" When she could stop him, she said: "I don't laugh at you, Phil. That's not fair." "You always do. I thought I'd come to you to-day to see. I always come to you hoping. But I always go away knowing I'm a fool to have troubled. Well, I won't come again. I always say that to myself. Now I've said it to you. Now it's fixed. I won't come back again. It's done--it's over!" She put out her hand and touched his. "Now, Phil!" But he shook off her touch. "You don't understand me. That's what it comes to." "Phil!" "No one does. You least of all." "Phil, you're ill, old boy." "Well, laugh over that!" cried Mr. Wriford and turned with a shuffling movement of his feet; and she saw him blunder against the door-post as though he had not noticed it; and stood listening white he went heavily down the stairs; and heard him fumble with the latch below and slam the outer door behind him. II