"Jules," she said, summoning a little severity of manner to counterbalance the tremor in her voice, "you need not come back for me. Jules," she added, turning again, "good-by-you have-you have been very faithful." The man touched his hat gravely and stood like a sentinel till she had passed from sight among the trees.

It was late in November, and the maple boughs were a riot of red and gold. The sky beyond them looked pale and far away, as though a white veil had been drawn across its tender southern blue. She rejoiced now that she had elected to spend this last hour in the frosty outdoor gladness.

With a little impulse of relief, she flung back her veil and drew a deep breath. Then she locked her hands inside her muff and began to walk briskly. At the park's further end there was a bench, inside a sort of roofless summerhouse, where on warm days the fountain played in a rainbow.