He took her hand in silence. After a moment she released it; laid both hands lightly on his shoulders, lifted her face and kissed him. "Good night," she said. "You have made this a very happy day in my life. Shall I see you in the morning?" "I'm afraid not. I left word to have a horse ready at daylight. It is not far from that, now." "Then I shall not see you again?" "Not until you come to New York." "Couldn't you come back for a day? Querida is coming. Sammy and Harry Annan are coming up over Sunday. Couldn't you?" "Valerie, dear, I _could_"--he checked himself; thought for a while until the strain of his set teeth aroused him to consciousness of his own emotion. Rather white he looked at her, searching for the best phrase--for it was already threatening to be a matter of phrases now--of forced smiles--and some breathing spot fit for the leisure of self-examination. "I'm going back to paint," he said. "Those commissions have waited long enough." He strove to visualise his studio, to summon up the calm routine of the old regime--as though the colourless placidity of the past could steady him. "Will you need me?" she asked. "Later--of course. Just now I've a lot of men's figures to deal with--that symbolical affair for the new court house." "Then you don't need me?" "No." She thought a moment, slim fingers resting on the knob of her door, standing partly turned away from him. Then, opening her door, she stepped inside, hesitated, looked back: "Good-bye, Louis, dear," she said, gently. CHAPTER VI