It was peopled with ghosts, for him. Upstairs, in the drawing-room

that extended across the front of the house, she had told him of her

engagement to Howard Lucas. Later on, coming back from Europe, he had

gone back there to find Lucas installed in the house, his cigars on

the table, his photographs on the piano, his books scattered about.

And Lucas himself, smiling, handsome and triumphant on the hearth rug,

dressed for dinner except for a brocaded dressing-gown, putting his hand

familiarly on Beverly's shoulder, and calling her "old girl."

He wandered into the small room to the right of the hall, where in other

days he had waited to be taken upstairs, and stood looking out of the

window. He heard some one, a caller, come down, get into his overcoat

in the hall and go out, but he was not interested. He did not know

that Leslie Ward had stood outside the door for a minute, had seen and

recognized him, and had then slammed out.

He was quite steady as the butler preceded him up the stairs. He even

noticed certain changes in the house, the door at the landing converted

into an arch, leaded glass in the dining-room windows beyond it. But

he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror, and saw himself a shabby

contrast to the former days.

He faced her, still with that unexpected composure, and he saw her very

little changed. Even the movement with which she came toward him with

both hands out was familiar.

"Jud!" she said. "Oh, my dear!"

He saw that she was profoundly moved, and suddenly he was sorry for her.

Sorry for the years behind them both, for the burden she had carried,

for the tears in her eyes.

"Dear old Bev!" he said.

She put her head against his shoulder, and cried unrestrainedly; and

he held her there, saying small, gentle, soothing things, smoothing her

hair. But all the time he knew that life had been playing him another

trick; he felt a great tenderness for her and profound pity, but he

did not love her, or want her. He saw that after all the suffering

and waiting, the death and exile, he was left at the end with nothing.

Nothing at all.

When she was restored to a sort of tense composure he found to his

discomfort that woman-like she intended to abase herself thoroughly and

completely. She implored his forgiveness for his long exile, gazing at

him humbly, and when he said in a matter-of-fact tone that he had been

happy, giving him a look which showed that she thought he was lying to

save her unhappiness.




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