For response he drew her to him in an abrupt convulsive gesture. Leading her to the sofa, he knelt and buried his head on her lap. She brushed the hair back from his forehead nervously. It was indiscreet of him to have remained after the others had gone. She had caught interchanged glances and knew that the worst interpretation would be made of the situation. As he remained motionless, she spoke a little wearily. "What is the matter, dear? Why are you so excited to-night?" He raised a bloodless face, and she saw that his eyes were swimming in tears. "Oh Anne, it is all over. This is the end." With a smothered sob, he dropped his head back upon her knees. "What do you mean?" Her voice was shocked. A premonitory thrill sent a shiver over her body. "I have taken Claire back again," he gasped. She uttered a cry and recoiled instinctively. "I understand and--and I suppose I am glad," she faltered, with quick pride. She tried to remove his hold but his arms tightened about her convulsively. "Oh no, you don't understand at all. I don't love her. It isn't that. It's----" his eyes widened with horror, "Claire is going to have a child," he finished brokenly. "Ah!" Anne's face became suddenly ashen. "I suppose I should have foreseen this," she murmured, pushing him away from her almost roughly. "Oh, poor Claire, how she must have suffered! How can I ever forgive myself?" She wrung her hands in an unfamiliar gesture. He stumbled to his feet and stood over her. "I didn't know it, Anne. I never dreamed of such a thing." "No, I suppose not, but that doesn't make it any easier for Claire, does it?" Her voice was dry and expressionless. "When--when is it to be?" He shot her a tortured glance. "Very soon, I am afraid." He averted his working face. "Oh Anne, don't despise me. I was mad, beside myself when it all happened. It is blurred, fantastic, like the memory of some confused dream." His miserable voice pierced Anne's pride. She put her arms about him and drew him down on to the couch beside her. "Poor Alexis, my poor, poor boy," she crooned sorrowfully. He hid his face against the back of the sofa. "I am cursed, I seem to blast all those who love me," he choked. "Oh, Anne, if you had seen her pitiful little face! I am not fit to live!" "Hush, it is terrible for her, of course. But it was not your fault. You were horribly unfortunate, that is all." She stroked his shoulder, all the aching tenderness of her heart in her finger-tips. "And now you are going to make it all up to her." He returned her look with dumb, suffering eyes. "How the gods must hate me!" A little shudder ran through her. What was the adage? "Whom the gods destroy, they first make mad"? She placed her hand upon his lips. "Don't say that. I can't bear to hear you. Nobody hates you, least of all the gods. It is only that you are not as other men. Suffering seems to be the price exacted of genius."