A suspicion suddenly came to Williams that perhaps the other room was empty, that perhaps Hale had been driven to the alternative of carrying her off. He sprang to his feet. "Just wait here," he said to Antonia. The hallway between the two rooms was in shadow. As he stepped into it, the door of the front room opened and Doris and Hale came out of it together. They did not see Williams, for they both turned at once toward the staircase, Hale in order to descend it and Doris leaning on the balustrade, raising her shoulders and almost taking her feet off the ground. Their manner was not that of people who have parted forever. "There isn't another woman in the world would make such a sacrifice for a fellow like me," Hale said. Williams could not see the smile she gave him, but it must have been potent. He took her in his arms, wrenched himself away, walked down about three steps, turned and walked up them again, kissed her a second time--a good satisfactory hug, and then exclaiming, "I can't bear to go," bounded down the stairs and was gone. The front door banged behind him, and Doris Helen lifted her hands from the balustrade. She hardly noticed Williams as he opened the door. Antonia was still standing. "Well, Doris," she said as the younger woman entered, and the tone of her voice was deep and bell-like. Doris sat down on the edge of the sofa--she always sat on the edge of her chair so that her feet could touch the ground. Her hands, folded as usual in her lap, were perfectly quiet, yet something in the way her eyes darted from point to point made Williams feel that she was nervous. "Well," he said briskly, "what did you decide?" She looked at him wonderingly. "I promised Antonia I would not marry without her consent. I shall keep my word, of course." Her sister-in-law held out a hand to her, and with the other covered her eyes. "Thank God!" she said. Williams looked at the widow. Obviously she was deceiving either Hale or Antonia. That was no rejected lover who had just left the house. He speculated how the drama was going to unfold. There was no special purpose in deceiving Antonia. If there was to be a marriage, she would necessarily know it. Perhaps Doris Helen was one of those people who couldn't say disagreeable things, but could write them. Miss Southgate removed her hand from her eyes. "And now," she said, "that nightmare is over, let us go back to Pasadena and begin our work editing my brother's memoirs." Williams was aware of a certain bitter satisfaction in the thought that such a life was about all the little creature deserved, but the little creature was calmly shaking her head. "No," she was saying gently; "no, I'm not going back to Pasadena, Antonia. I'm going to Spain." Her sister-in-law stared at her. "To Spain? But I don't want to go to Spain, Doris, and you can hardly go alone." "I'm not going alone," answered Doris. "Mr. Hale is going with me."