"Who is—_that_?" she asked unsteadily. Helen turned and went quietly away toward her bed-room. Stephanie stood as though frozen, then reached forward and pressed the electric button with a gloved finger that trembled. "Jim!" she whispered. She stole forward, nearer, close to him, still incredulous, her grey eyes wide with excitement; then, with a little sobbing cry she threw both arms around his neck. She had laughed and cried there in his arms; her lovely head and disordered hair witnessed the passionate ardour of her welcome to this man who now sat beside her in her bed-room, her hands clasped in his, and all her young soul’s adoration in her splendid eyes. "Oh," she whispered again and again, "—Oh, to have you back, Jim. That is too heavenly to believe. You dear, dear boy—so good looking—and a little older and graver——" She nestled close to him, laying her cheek against his. She murmured: "It seems too delicious to endure. You do love me, don’t you, Jim? We haven’t anybody else in the world except each other, you know. Isn’t it good—good to have each other again! It’s been like a dream, your absence. You gradually became unreal—a dear, beloved memory. Somehow, I didn’t think you’d ever come back. Are you happy to be with me?" "Happier than you know, Steve——" His voice trembled oddly and he drew her into his arms: "Good God," he said under his breath, "—I must have been mad to leave you to your own devices so long! I ought to be shot!" "What do you mean, Jim?" "You know. Oh, Steve, Steve, I can’t understand—I simply can not understand." After a silence she lifted her head and rested her lips softly against his cheek. "Do you mean—my marrying Oswald?" she asked. "Yes. Why did you do such a thing?" She bent her head, considering the question for a while in silence. Then she said calmly: "There’s one reason why I did it that I can’t tell you. I promised him not to. Another reason was that he was very much in love with me. I don’t know exactly what it is that I feel for him—but he does fascinate me. He always did, somehow. Even as a boy——" "You didn’t know him as a boy!" "No. But I saw him once. And I realize now that I was even then vaguely conscious of an odd interest in him. And that time at Cambridge, too. He had that same, indefinable attraction for me——" "You _are_ in love with him then!" "I don’t know. Jim, I don’t think it is love. I don’t think I know what love really is. So, knowing this, but being grateful to him, and deeply sorry——" "Why?" "I can’t tell you why. Perhaps I’ll tell you sometime. But I was very grateful and sorry and—and more or less moved—fascinated. It’s funny; there are things I don’t like about Oswald, and still I can’t keep away from him.... Well, so everything seemed to combine to make me try it——" "Try what?" "Marrying him." "What do you mean by ’trying it?’" "Why, it’s a trial marriage——" "Good God!" he said. "What do you mean?"