Athalie

"Oh, Clive! And all the charming people you know--"

"I know many. None like you, Athalie."

"That is very sweet of you.... I'm trying to believe it.... I want

to.... There are many days to fill in when I am not with you. To fill

them with such a belief would be to shorten them.... I don't know. I

often wonder where you are; what you are doing; with what stately and

beautiful creature you are talking, laughing, walking, dancing."--She

shrugged her shoulders and gazed down at the dancers below. "The days

are very long, sometimes," she added, half to herself.

When again, calmly, she turned to him there was an odd expression on

his face, and the next second he reddened and shifted his gaze.

Neither spoke for a few moments.

Presently she began to draw on her gloves, but he continued staring

into space, not noticing her, and finally she bent forward and rested

her slim gloved fingers on his hand, lightly, interrogatively.

"Yes; all right," he muttered.

"I have to go to business in the morning," she pleaded. He turned

almost impatiently: "If I had my way you wouldn't go to business at all."

"If I had my way I wouldn't either," she rejoined, smilingly. But his

youthful visage remained sober and flushed. And when they were seated

in the limousine and the fur rug enveloped them both, he said

abruptly: "I'm getting tired of this business."

"What business, Clive?"

"Everything--the way you live--your inadequate quarters--your having

to work all day long in that stuffy office, day after day, year after

year!"

She said, surprised and perplexed: "But it can't be helped, Clive! I

have to work."

"Why?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean--what good am I to you--what's the use of me, if I can't make

things easier for you?"

"The use of you? Did you think I ever had any idea of using you?"

"But I want you to."

"How?" she asked, still uneasily perplexed, her eyes fixed on him.

But he had no definite idea, no plan fixed, nothing further to say on

a subject that had so suddenly taken shape within his mind.

She asked him again for an explanation, but, receiving none, settled

back thoughtfully in her furs. Only once did he break the silence.

"You know," he said indifferently, "that row of houses, of which

yours is one, belongs to me. I mean to me, personally."