"You DO do something," she said, deeply stirred in her turn. "I'm-
-you don't know how fond I am of you, Greg!"
For answer she felt his arms about her, and for a throbbing minute
they stood so; Rachael braced lightly, her beautiful breast rising
and falling, her breath coming quickly. Her magnificent eyes,
wide-open, like a frightened child's, were fixed steadily upon
him. He caught the fragrance of her hair, of her fresh skin; he
felt the softness and firmness of her slender arms.
"Rachael!" he said, in a sharp whisper. "Don't--don't say that--if
you don't--mean it!"
"Greg!" she answered, in the same tone. "Don't--frighten me!"
Instantly she was free, and he was standing by the fire with
folded arms, looking at her.
"You have missed love, and I have missed it," Warren Gregory said
presently. "We'll be patient, Rachael. I'll wait; we'll both wait-
-"
"Greg!" she could only answer still in that stricken whisper,
still pale. She stood just as he had left her.
A silence fell between them. The physician took out a cigarette
from his gold case with trembling ringers.
"I'm a little giddy, Rachael," he said after a moment. "I--on my
honor I don't know what's happened to me! You're the most
wonderful woman in the world--I've always thought that--but it
never occurred to me--the possibility--"
He paused, confused, unable to find the right words.
"You've been facing this all alone," he continued presently. "Poor
Rachael! You've been splendid--wonderfully brave! You have me
beside you now; I'll help you if I may. Some day we may find a way
out! Well," he finished abruptly, "suppose I go up and see
Clarence?"
For answer she rose, and without speaking again went ahead of him
up the stairway and left him at the door of her husband's room. He
did not see her again that night.
Half an hour later he came down, dismissed his car, and walked
home under the spring stars. In his veins, like a fire, still ran
the excited, glorious consciousness of his madness. In his ears
still echoed the wonderful golden voice; he could hear her very
words, and he took certain phrases from his memory, and gloated
over them as another man might have gloated over strings of
pearls: "I'd like to be far away from cities and people, a
fisherman's wife on an ocean shore with a baby coming every year
and just the delicious sea to watch!" "Greg--don't frighten me!"
Exquisite, desirable, enchanting--every inch of her--her voice,
her eyes, her slender hand with its gold circle. What a woman!
What a wife! What radiant youth and beauty and charm--and all
trampled in the mire by Clarence Breckenridge, of all insensate
brutes! How could laughter and courage and beauty survive it?