Half an hour later Buckton was in his little sitting-room, seated under a drop-light, with a newspaper spread out before him. Through the rather thin partition he heard Irene moving about the adjoining chamber. He sat for a moment longer; then, rising, he went to the connecting door. He caught his breath and held it as he rapped softly, very softly. The sound of movement on the part of Irene ceased. All was quiet for a moment; then he rapped again. He heard her coming. She unlocked the door, turned the bolt, and opened the door the width of her face. She had changed her dress. She now wore a pretty flowing kimono which she held over her white neck with her jeweled hand. "What is it?" she asked. He leaned against the door-jamb, and gazed into her eyes. "I must see you," he panted. "There is--is something I want to tell you." She hesitated, holding the door. "I'm tired," she faltered. "Besides--Oh, Andy, I've been thinking that perhaps I ought to take the first morning train for the Hardys'! I could get there soon enough to--" He leaned his flaming face closer to hers. He caught her hand and drew it down from her fluttering throat. "No, it is too late, sweetheart," he said. "We have burnt our bridges behind us. We can't go back now. We don't _want_ to. We couldn't if we tried. We are human. You were cruel to me once; you can't be cruel enough to close this door to-night. _You know you can't, darling_." He saw her glance waver. Her hold on the door was less firm. He pushed against it. She fell back, and he took her into his arms and pressed his lips to hers. CHAPTER XIII