“I ’ve come to the conclusion that anything’s possible in this infernal world,” said Joyce, bitterly. “I suppose the whole crowd are against me.” “Well, there is a bit of feeling, certainly,” replied McKay, in an embarrassed tone. “And maybe it won’t be very pleasant for you. They all talk as if they were plaster of Paris saints,--and, dash it all--they made me sick; so I thought I’d come and say I’d stand by you.” “Thank you, McKay,” said Joyce, touched. “You are a good sort. But I sha’n’t ask you. I am not going on with the tour.” “I think you’re just as well out of it, to tell you the truth,” said McKay. Then his anger against Annie Stevens broke out again in an unequivocal epithet. “The little--------,” he said. “I suppose it is horrible in a woman’s eyes,” said Joyce, moving with McKay toward the crowd round the luggage-van. “But I can’t see why she should hate me like this, all of a sudden, and wish to ruin me.” “Can’t you? It’s pretty plain.” “No,” said Joyce. “We have always been the best of friends.” “Friends? You don’t mean to say you did n’t know she was gone on you--clean gone, all off her chump? No one liked to chaff you about it, because you have an infernal sarcastic way of scoring off fellows. But, Gawd! The way she used to look at you was enough to make a man sick!” “Do you mean she was in love with me?” asked Joyce, falteringly, as the whole situation of affairs, past and present, began to dawn upon him. “Well, rather,” said McKay, with a chuckle. “What do you think?” Several of the company were still around the pile of luggage by the van, claiming their things and waiting for porters. Standing on one side was Annie Stevens, and, as it happened, Joyce recognised his Gladstone bag lying at her feet He went and picked it up, and was going off silently with it, when he felt her touch on his arm. Dim as the light was, he could see that her face was haggard and drawn. She met his stern gaze beseechingly. “For God’s sake, forgive me,” she whispered. “You have played too much havoc with my life,” replied Joyce coldly. “I shall kill myself,” said the girl. “Some people are better dead,” said Joyce, turning away, bag in hand. On the platform beyond the barriers he met McKay again. “Good-bye, McKay,” he said. “I have only two friends in the world who know my story, and you are one.” “Good-bye, old man,” said McKay. “Better luck next time.” They shook hands and parted, McKay to join his friend Blake at the lodgings they had secured already, Joyce to put up for the night at the first cheap hotel he could find.