She was now taking off her gloves. "Before your maid comes," I went on, "let me explain about the apartment. This room and the two leading out of it are yours.

My own suit is on the other side of our private hall there." She colored high, paled. I saw that she did not intend to speak.

I stood awkwardly, waiting for something further to come into my own head. "Good-night," said I, finally, bowing as if I were taking leave of a formal acquaintance at the end of a formal call. She did not answer.

I left the room, closing the door behind me. I paused an instant, heard the key click in the lock. And I burned in a hot flush of shame-shame that she should have thought so basely of me.

For I did not then realize how far apart we were, and utterly in the dark, each toward the other. I joined Monson in my little smoking room. "Congratulate you," he began, with his nasty, supercilious grin, which of late had been getting on my nerves severely.