"I suppose so, Monte," she answered. "But if I 'm to grin, I must depend upon you to make me." "I'll be over in five minutes," he replied. She needed him to make her grin! That was all he was good for. Thank Heaven, he had it in his power to do this much; as soon as he told her she was to be free again, the smile would return to her lips. He went at once to the hotel, and she came down to meet him, looking very serious--and very beautiful. Her deep eyes seemed deeper than ever, perhaps because of a trace of dark below them. She had color, but it was bright crimson against a dead white. Her lips were more mobile than usual, as if she were having difficulty in controlling them--as if many unspoken things were struggling there for expression. When he took her warm hand, she raised her head a little, half closing her eyes. It was clear that she was worrying more than even he had suspected. Poor little woman, her conscience was probably harrying the life out of her. This must not be. They went upstairs to the damp, desolate sun parlor, and he undertook at once the business in hand. "It has n't worked very well, has it, Marjory?" he began, with a forced smile. Turning aside her head, she answered in a voice scarcely above a whisper:-- "No, Monte." "But," he went on, "there's no sense in getting stirred up about that." "It was such a--a hideous mistake," she said. "That's where you're wrong," he declared. "We've tried a little experiment, and it failed. Is n't that all there is to it?" "All?" "Absolutely all," he replied. "What we did n't reckon with was running across old friends who would take the adventure so seriously. If we'd only gone to Central Africa or Asia Minor--" "It would have been just the same if we'd gone to the North Pole," she broke in. "You think so?" "I know it. Women can't trifle with--with such things without getting hurt." "I 'm sorry. I suppose I should have known." "You were just trying to be kind, Monte," she answered. "Don't take any of the blame. It's all mine." "I urged you." "What of that?" she demanded. "It was for me to come or not to come. That is one part of her life over which a woman has absolute control. I came because I was so utterly selfish I did not realize what I was doing." "And I?" he asked quickly. "You?" She turned and tried to meet his honest eyes. "I'm afraid I've spoiled your holiday," she murmured. He clinched his jaws against the words that surged to his lips. "If we could leave those last few weeks just as they were--" he said. "Can't we call that evening I met you in Paris the beginning, and the day we reached Nice the end?" "Only there is no end," she cried. "Let the day we reached the Hôtel des Roses be the end. I should like to go away feeling that the whole incident up to then was something detached from the rest of our lives." "You're going--where?" she gasped. He tried to smile. "I 'll have to pick up my schedule again."