She looked at him a moment pleadingly and with a gesture of helplessness started toward the door. He opened it for her, followed her into the hall, pressed the buttons that lighted the rooms above, and returned to the living-room.... III Their routine continued much as it had been for the past two years, but to her tortured senses there was something ominous now in the brevity of their contacts. Shep often remained away late and on his return crept softly upstairs to his room without speaking to her, though she left her light burning brightly. Constance kept to her room, she hadn’t been well, and the doctor told her to stay in bed for a few days. For several nights she heard Shep moving about his room, and the maid told her that he had been going over his clothing and was sending a box of old suits to some charitable institution. A few days later he went into her room as she was having breakfast in bed. She asked him to shift the tray for her, more for something to say than because the service was necessary, and inquired if he were feeling well, but without dispelling the hard glitter that had become fixed in his eyes. “Do you know when Leila’s coming home?” he inquired from the foot of the bed. “No; I haven’t heard. I’ve seen no one; the doctor told me to keep quiet.” “Yes; I suppose you have to do that,” he said without emotion. He went out listlessly and as he passed her she put out her hand, touched his sleeve; but he gave no sign that he was aware of the appeal the gesture implied.... It was on a Saturday morning that he went in through his dressing room, bade her good morning in much his old manner and rang for her coffee. He had breakfasted, he said, and merely wanted to be sure that she was comfortable. “Thank you, Shep. I’m all right. I’ve been troubled about you, dear--much more than about myself. But you look quite fit this morning.” “Feeling fine,” he said. “This is a half day at the office and I want to get on the job early. I’m dated up for a foursome this afternoon with George, Bruce and Carroll; so I won’t be home till after the game. You won’t mind?” “Why, I’m delighted to have you go, Shep!” “I always do the best I can, Connie,” he went on musingly. “I probably make a lot of mistakes. I don’t believe God intended me for heavy work; if he had he’d have made me bigger.” “How foolish, Shep. You’re doing wonderfully. Isn’t everything going smoothly at the office?” “Just fine! I haven’t a thing to complain of!” “Is everything all right now?” she asked, encouraged to hope for some assurance of his faith in her. “What isn’t all right will be--there’s always that!” he replied with a laugh. He lingered beside the bed and took her hand, bent over and kissed her, let his cheek rest against hers in an old way of his. “Good-bye,” he said from the door, and then with a smile--Shep’s familiar, wistful little smile--he left her. IV