"He did not think of me," she reflected defiantly, "I shall not think of

him."

She was ashamed of that instantly. After all, Chris was doing a man's

part now. She was no longer angry with him. She had written him that,

over and over, in the long letters she had made a point of sending him.

Only, she did not love him any more. She thought now that she never had

loved him.

What about the time when he came back? What would she do then? She

shivered.

But Chris, after all, was not to come back. He would never come back

again. The cable was there when she reached her apartment--a cold

statement, irrefutable, final.

She had put the flowers on the table and had raised her hands to unpin

her hat when she saw it. She read it with a glance first, then slowly,

painfully, her heart contracted as if a hand had squeezed it. She stood

very still, not so much stricken as horrified, and her first conscious

thought was of remorse, terrible, gasping remorse. All that afternoon,

while she had been hating Natalie and nursing her love for Clay, Chris

had been lying dead somewhere.

Chris was dead.

She felt very tired, but not faint. It seemed dreadful, indeed, that she

could be standing there, full of life, while Chris was dead. Such grief

as she felt was for him, not for herself. He had loved life so, even

when he cheapened it. He had wanted to live and now he was dead. She,

who did not care greatly to live, lived on, and he was gone.

All at once she felt terribly alone. She wanted some one with her. She

wanted to talk it all out to some one who understood. She wanted Clay.

She said to herself that she did not want him because she loved him.

All love was dead in her now. She wanted him because he was strong and

understanding. She made this very clear to herself, because she had a

morbid fancy that Chris might be watching her. There were people who

believed that sort of thing. To her excited fancy it seemed as though

Chris's cynical smile might flash out from any dusky corner.

She knew she was not being quite rational. Which was strange, because

she felt so strong, and because the voice with which she called

Clayton's number was so steady. She knew, too, that she was no longer

in love with Clay, because his steady voice over the telephone left her

quite calm and unmoved.

"I want you to come up, Clay," she said. "If you can, easily."




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