With a great sinking, as though all were going from beneath him, he watched her go out ... heard the outer door close ... and lay exhausted, gazing wide-eyed at the door frame in which he had last seen her. A minute passed so, and then his eyes, falling, saw a pair of gray silk gloves on the table just before him. They were hers. He had risen upon his elbow with the purpose of getting to the table, by help of a chair back, and securing them, when he heard the hall door open gently and close. He sank back upon the couch. The next minute he saw her in the doorway again, pale and with a composure that was the balance between paroxysm and supreme repression. She paused there, one hand against the frame, and then walked up to the little table. "I came back for my gloves," she said, picking them up. "Yes," his lips whispered, his eyes fastened on her white face. But she did not go. She stood looking down upon him, one hand resting on the table, the other on a chair back. "I left my gloves on purpose; there is something I want to say to you," she said, with her tense calm. "You remember--when I saw you last--I practically said that knowing you could in the future mean nothing to me but pain. I do not feel so now. Knowing you has given me inspiration. There is nothing for me to forgive--but if it means anything to you ... I forgive you." Tom could only hold his eyes on her pale face. "And I want to congratulate you," she went on. "I know how another is getting the praise that belongs to you. I know how much more you deserve than is being given you." "Chance helped me much--at the end." "It is the man who is always striving that is ready for the chance when it comes," she returned. Tom, lying back, gazing fixedly up into her dark eyes, could not gather hold of a word. The gilded clock counted off several seconds. "Mr. Driscoll is waiting for me," she said, in a voice that was weaker and less forcedly steady. She had not changed her position all the time she had spoken. Her arms now dropped to her side, and she moved back ever so little. "I hope ... you'll be happy ... always," she said. "Yes ... and I hope you...." "Good-by." "Good-by." Their eyes held steadfastly to each other for a moment; she seemed to waver, and she caught the back of a chair; then she turned and went out.... For long he watched the door out of which she had gone; then, heedless of the pain, he rolled over and stared at one great poppy in the back of the couch. THE END TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: Obvious typographical and printer errors have been corrected without comment. In addition to obvious errors, the following changes have been made: Page 26: "virture" changed to "virtue" in the phrase, "... had the virtue of being terse...." Page 53: The word "you" was added to the phrase, "How do you propose...." Page 178: "disppeared" changed to "disappeared" in the phrase, "... they had disappeared...."