"Did you, Gilbert?" Oh, when would the twigs break and the light step come? Martin, Martin. "A spoilt boy, a mother's darling, unthrashed, unled. What a cub at school with too much money! What a conceited ass at college, buying deference and friends. I see myself with amazement taking to life with an air of having done it all, phrase-making and paying deference to nothing but my excellent profile. God, to have those years over again! We'd both do things differently given another chance, eh, Joan?" "Yes, Gilbert." He wasn't coming. He wasn't coming. Martin, Martin. She strained her ears to catch the sound of breaking twigs. The crickets and the frogs had the silence to themselves. She got up and went to the window, with Gilbert at her elbow. She felt that he was instantly on his feet. Martin's face was not pressed against the screen. He had heard. She knew that he had heard, because she was always able to make him hear. But he didn't care. When he had come before it was for nothing. She had lost him. She was un-Martined. She was utterly without help. She must give up. What was the good of making a fight for it now that Martin cared so little as to turn a deaf ear to her call? He had even forgotten that he had loved her once. Death was welcome then. Yes, welcome. But there was one way to make some sort of retribution--just one. She would remain true to Martin. Gilbert touched her on the arm. "Come, Joan," he said. "The night's running away. Is it so hard to decide?" But against her will Nature, to whom life is so precious, put words into her mouth. "I want you to try and understand something more about me," she said eagerly. "The time has gone for arguing," he replied, stiffening a little. "I'm not going to argue," she went on quickly, surprised at herself, deserted as she was. "I only want you to think a little more deeply about all this." He drew his hand across his forehead. "Think? I've thought until my brain's hot, like an overheated engine." She leaned forward. Spring was fighting her battle. "I'm not worth a love like yours," she said. "I'm too young, too unserious. I'm not half the woman that Alice is." "You came to me in spirit that night in Paris. I placed yuu in my heart. I've waited all these years." "Yes, but there's Alice--no, don't turn away. Let me say what's in my mind. This is a matter of life or death, you said." He nodded. "Yes, life or death, together." "Alice doesn't disappoint," she went on, the words put upon her lips. "I may, I shall. I already have, remember. This is your night, Gilbert, not mine, and whichever step we decide to take matters more to you than to me. Let it be the right one. Let it be the best for you." But he made a wild sweeping gesture. His patience was running out. "Nothing is best for me if you're not in it. I tell you you've got me, whatever you are. You have your choice. Make it, make it. The night won't last for ever."