"Of course. But she will not listen. You see she is a Roman Catholic and something of a mystic to boot. But why do we bother about her so much?" He shrugged cynically. "She is negligible. I have often forgotten her existence for weeks at a time. That is why I don't understand why the very thought of her can upset me so." There was something uncanny in the comprehending look which Anne cast at him. "That is because you cannot forgive her the injury you have done her. It is her pain and not her love which bores you. It is the memory of your own suffering and debased self which you hate in her. She is so associated with your weakness that the very mention of her name fills you with hatred and humiliation. It is not her fault at all." The calm voice ceased. Alexis faced the compassionate eyes with horror in his own. "No, you are wrong, you are wrong. You do not understand." Then, as she continued to look at him as from a great distance, "Don't make me loathe myself more than I do already!" he pleaded. With an odd little smile she turned to leave the room. "Perhaps I am mistaken," she said softly, her hand on the knob. "But somehow I don't believe I am. Think it over." The odd smile lingering about her lips, she pulled the door slowly between them and was gone. A sense of void surged over him, in a sickening sweep. He fell back upon the pillow with a suppressed groan. She had gone, misunderstanding in her heart. To explain fully and in detail would be the act of a cad, an act of which even he was incapable. For a moment his very center of gravity seemed to disintegrate. Then came the familiar blankness of despair. CHAPTER III LIFE'S GLAMOUR