Then came the day when Thorpe announced that it was no longer necessary for him to impose upon Simmy's hospitality, and that he was returning that evening to his hotel. George was out of danger. It was then that he said to Anne:

"You have been wonderful, Anne. I want to thank you for what you have done to help me. You might have made the situation impossible, but-well, you didn't, that's all. I am glad that you and that poor little woman in there have become such good friends. You can do a great deal to help her-and George. She is a brick, Anne. You will not lose anything by standing by her now. As I said before, you can always reach me by telephone if anything goes wrong, and I'll drop in every morning to-"

"I want you to know, Braden, that I firmly believe you saved George for us. I shall not try to thank you, however. You did your duty, of course.

We will let Lutie weep on your neck, if you don't mind, and you may take my grat.i.tude for granted." There was a slightly satirical note in her voice.

His figure stiffened. "I don't want to be thanked," he said,-"not even by Lutie. You must know that I did not come into this case from choice. But when Lutie insisted I-well, there was nothing else to do."

"Would you have come if I had asked you?" she inquired, and was very much surprised at herself.

"No," he answered. "You would have had no reason for selecting me, and I would have told you as much. And to that I would have added a very good reason why you shouldn't."

"What do you mean?"

"I may as well be frank, Anne. People,-our own friends,-are bound to discuss us pretty thoroughly from now on. No matter how well we may understand each other and the situation, the rest of the world will not understand, simply because it doesn't want to do so. It will wait,-rather impatiently, I fear,-for the chance to say, 'I told you so.' Of course, you are sensible enough to have thought of all this, still I don't see why I shouldn't speak of it to you."

"Has it occurred to you that our friends may be justified in thinking that I _did_ call upon you to take this case, Braden?" she asked quietly.

He frowned. "I daresay that is true. I hadn't thought of it-"

"They also believe that I summoned you to take charge of my husband a few weeks ago. No one has advised the world to the contrary. And now that you are here, in the same house with me, what do you suppose they will say?" A queer little smile played about her lips, a smile of diffidence and apology.

He gave her a quick look of inquiry. "Surely no one will-"

"They will say the Widow Thorpe's devotion to her brother was not her only excuse for moving into good old Simmy's apartment, and they will also say that Dr. Thorpe must be singularly without practice in order to give all of his time to a solitary case."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Anne," he cried impatiently, "give people credit for having a little commonsense and charity. They-"

"I don't give them credit for having anything of the kind," she said coolly, "when it comes to discussing their fellow creatures. I hope you are not distressed, Braden. As you have said, people will discuss us. We cannot escape the consequences of being more or less public inst.i.tutions, you and I. Of course they will talk about our being here together. I knew that when I came here three weeks ago."

"Then why did you come?" he demanded.

She replied with a directness that shamed him. "Because I do not want people to talk about Lutie. That is one reason. Another is that I wanted to do my share in looking after George." Suddenly her eyes narrowed.

"You-you do not imagine that I-I-you couldn't have thought _that_ of me, Braden."

He shook his head slowly. "If I had thought _that_, Anne, I should not have told you a moment ago that you were wonderful," he said.

Few women would have been content to let it go at that. It is the prerogative of woman to expect more than a crumb, and, if it is not forthcoming from others, to gratify the appet.i.te by feeding confidently upon herself. In this instance, Anne might have indulged herself in the comfort of a few tremulous words of self-justification, and even though they drew nothing in exchange, she would at least have had the pleasure of uttering them, and the additional satisfaction of knowing that he would have to listen to them, whether or no. But she was far too intelligent for that. Her good sense overcame the feminine craving; she surprised him by holding her tongue.

He waited for a second or two and then said: "Good-bye. I shall drop in to-morrow to see George."

She held out her hand. "He swears by you," she said, with a smile.

For the first time in more than a year, their hands touched. Up to this moment there had not been the remotest evidence of an inclination on the part of either to bridge the chasm that lay between them. The handclasp was firm but perfunctory. She had herself under perfect control. It is of importance to note, however, that later on she pressed her hand to her lips, and that there were many times during the day when she looked at it as if it were something unreal and apart from her own physical being.

"Thank heaven he doesn't feel toward me as he did last week," he said fervently. "I shall never get over that awful moment. I shall never forget the look of despair that-"

"I know," she interrupted. "I saw it too. But it is gone now, so why make a ghost of it? Don't let it haunt you, Braden."

"It is easy to say that I shouldn't let it-"

"If you are going to begin your life's work by admitting that you are thin-skinned, you'll not get very far, my friend," she said seriously.

"Good-bye."

She smiled faintly as she turned away. He was never quite sure whether it was encouragement or mockery that lay in her dark eyes when she favoured him with that parting glance. He stood motionless until she disappeared through the door that opened into the room where George was lying; his eyes followed her slender, graceful figure until she was gone from sight.

His thoughts leaped backward to the time when he had held that lovely, throbbing, responsive body close in his arms, to the time when he had kissed those, sensitive lips and had found warmth and pa.s.sion in them, to the time when he had drunk in the delicate perfume of her hair and the seductive fragrance of her body. That same slender, adorable body had been pressed close to his, and he had trembled under the enchantment it held.

He went away plagued and puzzled by an annoying question that kept on repeating itself without answer; was it in his power now to rouse the old flame in her blood, to revive the tender fires that once consumed her senses when he caressed her? Would she be proof against him if he set out to reconquer? She seemed so serene, so sure of herself. Was it a pose or had love really died within her?

By no means the least important of the happenings in Simmy's house was the short but decisive contest that took place between Lutie and Mrs.

Tresslyn. They met first in the sick-room, and the shock was entirely one- sided. It was George's mother who sustained it. She had not expected to find the despised "outcast" there. For once her admirable self-control was near to being shattered. If she had been permitted to exercise the right of speech at that crucial moment, she would have committed the irretrievable error of denouncing the brazen creature in the presence of disinterested persons. Afterwards she thanked her lucky stars for the circ.u.mstances which compelled her to remain angrily pa.s.sive, for she was soon to realise what such an outburst would have brought upon her head.

She took it out on Anne, as if Anne were wholly to blame for the outrage.

Anne had the temerity,-the insolence, Mrs. Tresslyn called it,-to advise her to make the best of a situation that could not be helped. She held forth at some length for her daughter's benefit about "common decency,"

and was further shocked by Anne's complacency.

"I think she's behaving with uncommon decency," said Anne. "It isn't every one who would turn the other cheek like this. Let her alone. She's the best thing that can happen to George."

"My dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Tresslyn, aghast. "Of course, I shall not come to this apartment while she is here. That is out of the question."

"Inasmuch as Lutie was here first and means to stay, I am afraid you will have to reconsider that decision, mother,-provided you want to be near George."

"Did you speak of her as 'Lutie'?" demanded Mrs. Tresslyn, staring.

"I don't know what else to call her," said Anne.

"Simeon Dodge will appreciate my feelings,-my position-"

"Simmy is very much on her side, so I'd advise you to steer clear of him,"

said Anne impatiently. "Now, mother dear, don't upset things here. Don't make a fuss. Don't-"

"A fuss?" cried her mother, trying hard not to believe her ears.

"Don't make it any harder for poor old Simmy. He is in for a rough time of it. Tresslyns everywhere! It isn't a lovely prospect, you know. He will be fed up with us before-And, mother, don't overlook the fact that George is very ill. He may not pull through. He-"

"Of course he will get well. He's as strong as an ox. Don't be silly."

The next day she and Lutie met in the library and had it out,-briefly, as I said before, but with astounding clarity. Mrs. Tresslyn swept into the library at four in the afternoon, coming direct from her home, where, as she afterwards felt called upon to explain in self-defence, the telephone was aggravatingly out of order,-and that was why she hadn't called up to inquire!-(It is so often the case when one really wants to use the stupid thing!) She was on the point of entering the sick-room when Lutie came up from behind.

"I'm afraid you can't go in just now, Mrs. Tresslyn," she said, firmly and yet courteously.

George's mother started as if stung. "Oh!" she exclaimed, and her tone was so declaratory that it was not necessary to add the unspoken-"it's _you_, is it?"

"He is asleep," said Lutie gently. "They won't even allow _me_ to go in."

This was too much for Mrs. Tresslyn. She transfixed the slight, tired-eyed young woman with a look that would have chilled any one else to the bone-the high-bred look that never fails to put the lowly in their places.

"Indeed," she said, with infinite irony in her voice. "This is Miss Carnahan, I believe?" She lifted her lorgnon as a further aid to inspection.