The hansom drew up in front of the house. Aunt Wess' and Page were already inside. The maid stood in the vestibule in the light that streamed from the half-open front door, an umbrella in her hand. And as Laura alighted, she heard Page's voice calling from the front hall that the others had umbrellas, that the maid was not to wait. The hansom splashed away, and Corthell and Laura mounted the steps of the house. "Won't you come in?" she said. "There is a fire in the library." But he said no, and for a few seconds they stood under the vestibule light, talking. Then Corthell, drawing off his right-hand glove, said: "I suppose that I have my answer. You do not wish for a change. I understand. You wish to say by that, that you do not love me. If you did love me as I love you, you would wish for just that--a change. You would be as eager as I for that wonderful, wonderful change that makes a new heaven and a new earth." This time Laura did not answer. There was a moment's silence. Then Corthell said: "Do you know, I think I shall go away." "Go away?" "Yes, to New York. Possibly to Paris. There is a new method of fusing glass that I've promised myself long ago I would look into. I don't know that it interests me much--now. But I think I had better go. At once, within the week. I've not much heart in it; but it seems--under the circumstances--to be appropriate." He held out his bared hand. Laura saw that he was smiling. "Well, Miss Dearborn--good-by." "But why should you go?" she cried, distressfully. "How perfectly--ah, don't go," she exclaimed, then in desperate haste added: "It would be absolutely foolish." "_Shall_ I stay?" he urged. "Do you tell me to stay?" "Of course I do," she answered. "It would break up the play--your going. It would spoil my part. You play opposite me, you know. Please stay." "Shall I stay," he asked, "for the sake of your part? There is no one else you would rather have?" He was smiling straight into her eyes, and she guessed what he meant. She smiled back at him, and the spirit of daring never more awake in her, replied, as she caught his eye: "There is no one else I would rather have." Corthell caught her hand of a sudden. "Laura," he cried, "let us end this fencing and quibbling once and for all. Dear, dear girl, I love you with all the strength of all the good in me. Let me be the best a man can be to the woman he loves." Laura flashed a smile at him. "If you can make me love you enough," she answered. "And you think I can?" he exclaimed. "You have my permission to try," she said. She hoped fervently that now, without further words, he would leave her. It seemed to her that it would be the most delicate chivalry on his part--having won this much--to push his advantage no further. She waited anxiously for his next words. She began to fear that she had trusted too much upon her assurance of his tact. Corthell held out his hand again. "It is good-night, then, not good-by."