It was a relief when somebody took his plate away, and he went out with a cigar he did not remember lighting into the cool night air and flung himself down in a seat on the terrace. There was no moon in the sky, but the stars were clear, and—for the night was still—a chilly dampness settled on everything. He felt it pleasantly cold upon his skin, and lay still huddled limply in the garden chair, trying to realize the position, but found the attempt almost useless, for his thoughts had no cohesion. It was, however, evident that the love of the woman he desired could never be his. She had given him her promise, and he fancied that if he insisted she would redeem it, for he vaguely understood her sense of responsibility; but it was evident that he could not insist, and with the courage of desperation he nerved himself to face the fact that he must let her go. He could think of nothing else, for he was still bewildered by the blow, and could only realize what had been taken from him. He did not know how long he lay there, but it was very late when he rose with a little shiver and went back into the hall, where he wrote a note. “Tell John to ride over with that early to‐morrow morning, and ask Miss Wayne for an answer,” he said to the servant, who wondered at his face, and then walked slowly with hopelessness in his very pose towards his room, where, as it happened, he slept heavily until late next morning. The next day, however, brought him further misery, for his perceptions were clearer now, and the difficulties he must meet more apparent, while he had also a horrible suspense to struggle with when the man he had sent with the note brought him an answer. It was very brief: “I will try to see you this evening.” Somehow the day dragged through, and Tony was glad when at last he left Northrop as darkness came, for the uncertainty was growing insupportable. It was, however, Mrs. Wayne who greeted him when he reached her house, and she looked at him gravely without shaking hands. “Yes,” she said, answering his unspoken question, “Violet has told me, and it is she who must decide. She will come down in a minute or two.” Tony was weak, but he had now the courage of hopelessness, and he met the lady’s eyes. “I will not try to influence her, madam, and can only thank you for allowing me to speak to her,” he said. Mrs. Wayne made no answer, but opened the door of a lighted room, and Tony, who sat down, waited for what seemed an interminable time until Violet came in. There was a curious hardness in her eyes, and her face was pale, so pale that it had an ivory gleam in the soft light, which the bronzy clusters of warm‐tinted hair emphasized, but she was dressed with more than her accustomed taste, and held herself very straight. Tony rose when he saw her. “I was almost afraid you would not see me,” he said. The girl sank into the chair he drew out, and he stood in front of her, with the hand he rested on the table trembling a little.