"But I wouldn't think of leaving him. I--I was going back-- When?"

"As soon as I can find temporary quarters for us."

"You say--I _must_?"

"I don't say that. I say only, if you are coming at all, come while I want you."

They faced each other in silence, the pretty, pleasure-loving young woman to whom life had been only a house of toys, and the rather seedy young man who had been one of the toys. The bond that held them was a slight one; a little more strain and it would have snapped. But the toy man had grown--somehow--into a real man whom she did not want to let go, and she knew that, as he had said, he had got far away from her. She could not understand; still she had not the key. And she was afraid.

"David! What is it I feel about you? You don't think--oh, you can't think--I don't love you?"

"I suppose you think you do. But it's not much of a love." A clock struck. He had forgotten his train. "Let me know if you want to come.

I've got to go now."

He caught up the boy and held him close, then kissed her hastily. And before she quite realized it, he was gone.

Aunt Clara found her standing where he had left her, staring blankly at the door, unmindful of the little David tugging at her dress.

"Aunt Clara! What is it? What has happened? David has been talking about--about my never going back--"

Aunt Clara made a good guess as to what had been said. And she had been doing some more thinking of her own.

"Between us we've nearly lost you a husband. That's what _has_ happened. And you're going to pack up and pack off to win him back, for his sake if not your own. That's what is going to happen."

"Win him back!" Shirley's world was fast sinking from under her feet.

"Is--is that what Mrs. Jim has been hinting in her letters? Do you mean--you think David has stopped--_loving_ me?"

"You think it incredible?"

"But he's my _husband_."

"What's that got to do with it? Oh," cried Aunt Clara, "can't you get it into your silly, selfish little head that you can't keep a love without earning it? You've been a fool. And I've been another. I never was so foolish in my life. I wonder your late Uncle John doesn't turn over in his grave. Come, Davy, it's most nine o'clock. To bed with you and leave your mother to think for once in her life."

CHAPTER XI

THE WITCH LAUGHS

David was at his desk early the next day, working closely in the effort to shut out his own problems; it was not a very successful effort. All morning he avoided Esther strictly; that was much easier. She was avoiding him, too, but he did not guess that.

During the noon hour he had a caller; d.i.c.k Holden, if you please, a d.i.c.k who was plainly perturbed.

"Davy," quoth he, "have I done you some favors?"

"You have," said David.

"One good turn deserves another. It has to do with St. Mark's.

Something queer's stirring there. My wires won't work. You're pretty thick with Jim Blaisdell. Get him to put in a word, a good strong word, for me, will you?"

"I'm afraid I can't, d.i.c.k," said David, "very consistently."

"Why not?"

"The fact is, I think Jim is putting in his best words for me."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I have plans in there myself."

"The devil!" d.i.c.k stared. "I thought you were out of the game."

"I'm back in to this extent."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't suppose you would be interested."

"Are your plans any good?"

"I think so," said David.

"Then I bet you're the one that's blocking me there." d.i.c.k shook his head reproachfully. "Davy, I'm disappointed in you. I call it playing it low down on me. You might at least have told me, so I could know what to meet. It isn't fair. It isn't friendly. And after all I've done for you! I didn't think you could do it." d.i.c.k sighed sorrowfully, his faith in human nature evidently shattered.

"I'm sorry, d.i.c.k," said David. "I supposed you put all your faith in your wires."

d.i.c.k thought a few minutes.

"Well, I'll tell you what we'll do," he offered at last. "When friends find themselves competing, they should meet half-way. We'll pool on your plans--I'll take a chance on them, sight unseen. I'll throw my pull over to you. Then we'll split the spoils, two and one. The two to me, of course."

"Why the two to you--of course?"

"The prestige of my name," said d.i.c.k with dignity, "is worth something, I think. We'll have to get busy at once, because the committee meets this afternoon."

"I'm afraid, d.i.c.k, I'll have to say no. You had a chance at my plans before I thought of putting them in. You could have had them for almost nothing, but you didn't think them worth looking over. I think I'll stand or fall with them."

"That's final? After all I've--"

"Yes, d.i.c.k, final. But it doesn't mean I'm not grateful--"

With a gesture d.i.c.k waived that. "Very well," he said sadly, rising.

"I thought there was such a thing as friendship in business. I see I was mistaken."

David wondered if d.i.c.k were losing his punch.

That afternoon came a wire.

"Am packing up now. Love. Shirley."