Irene was on the train bound for Charleston. She was seated in one of the big easy-chairs in the parlor-car, idly scanning a magazine and looking out at the dingy and sordid outskirts of Atlanta through which the train was moving with increasing speed. The conductor passed, punched her ticket, and went on. He had glanced at her with masculine interest, for she showed by her sedate dignity, smallest detail of attire, and every visible possession, that she was a passenger of distinction. Presently Buckton came in at the front door and approached her. An exultant smile swept his flushed face as he bent down over her. "Thank God, we are off!" he chuckled. "I was simply crazy at the station--first with fear that you would not come, and next that we'd be noticed, but I don't believe a soul recognized us. I was seated behind a newspaper in the waiting-room watching for you like a hawk. I saw you get out of the cab and come in. God, darling, you don't know how proud I felt to know that you were actually coming to me! At last you are mine--all mine; after all these years of agony you are mine!" She raised a pair of eyes to his in which a haunting dread seemed to lie like a shadow. "Oh, I feel so queer!" she sighed. "I realized that we had to hide and dodge, but I did not like the role. For the first time in my life I felt mean and sneaking. Already I am worried about father and the boy--father, in particular. He is getting old and feeble. Perhaps the shock to him may seriously harm him." Buckton smiled, but less freely. He sat down in the chair in front of her and turned it till he faced her. "We have no time to bother about them, dear," he said, passionately. "We deserve to live in happiness, and we are going to do it. I am so happy I can hardly speak. Oh, we are going to have a glorious time! You should have been mine long ago. Nature intended it. We are simply getting our dues." "I am doing it solely for your sake," she faltered. "Because you've suffered so on my account." "And not for your _own_ sake? Don't put it that way, sweetheart." He took her hand; but, casting a furtive glance at the backs of the few other passengers in the car, she withdrew it. "Don't," she protested, smiling. "We must be careful." She dropped a penetrating gaze into his amorous eyes, and applied her handkerchief to her drooping lips. "I've been thinking, Andy, about a certain thing more seriously since the train started than I ever did before. Do you know, many persons believe that if a woman acts--acts--well, as I am doing now, the man to whom she gives in will, down at the bottom of his heart, cease to respect and love her--in time--in time, I mean?"