"Auld Lang Syne," she retorted. "I want to forget the past. The old memories are distasteful. My only object in coming here to-night was to make the situation plain to you and to ask you to promise me not to--carry out your threat to kill yourself. Why should you kill yourself? Only cowards do that. Because you are in trouble? That is the coward's way out. Leave New York. Go where you are not known. You are still young. Begin life over again, somewhere else." Advancing toward him, she went on: "If you will do this I will help you. I never want to see you again, but I'll try not to think of you unkindly. But you must promise me solemnly not to make any attempt against your life." "I promise nothing," muttered Underwood doggedly. "But you must," she insisted. "It would be a terrible crime, not only against yourself, but against others. You must give me your word." Underwood shook his head. "I promise nothing." "But you must," persisted Alicia. "I won't stir from here until I have your promise." He looked at her curiously. "If my life has no interest for you, why should you care?" he asked. There was a note of scorn in his voice which aroused his visitor's wrath. Crumpling up his letter in her hand, she confronted him angrily. "Shall I tell you why I care?" she cried. "Because you accuse me in this letter of being the cause of your death--I, who have been your friend in spite of your dishonesty. Oh! it's despicable, contemptible! Above all, it's a lie----" Underwood shrugged his shoulders. Cynically he replied: "So it wasn't so much concern for me as for yourself that brought you here." Alicia's eyes flashed as she answered: "Yes, I wished to spare myself this indignity--the shame of being associated in any way with a suicide. I was afraid you meant what you said." "Afraid," interrupted Underwood bitterly, "that some of the scandal might reach as far as the aristocratic Mrs. Howard Jeffries, Sr.!" Her face flushed with anger, Alicia paced up and down the room. The man's taunts stung her to the quick. In a way, she felt that he was right. She ought to have guessed his character long ago and had nothing to do with him. He seemed desperate enough to do anything, yet she doubted if he had the courage to kill himself. She thought she would try more conciliatory methods, so, stopping short, she said more gently: "You know how my husband has suffered through the wretched marriage of his only son. You know how deeply we both feel this disgrace, and yet you would add----" Underwood laughed mockingly.