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 "We'll come to him. We've got to settle this other thing first. You see, Jason, we've got to do something about that lie I told . . . it wasn't really a lie because I told it for your sake and Philip's—to protect you both."

"Yes, it is kind-a awkward." He sat for a moment, trying to bring his volatile mind into profitable operation. At last he said, "You oughtn't to have told that lie, Em."

"I told you why I told it. God will understand me if no one else will."

"Now, Em, don't begin on that line. . . . It was always the line I couldn't stand. . . . You ain't no bleedin' martyr."

She looked at him with a sudden suspicion. "Jason, where did you pick up this queer talk . . . all the queer words you've been using?"

"Australia, I guess . . . living out among the cockneys out there." He rose suddenly. "Em, I can't sit any more in this dark. I can't think in a tomb." He went over and drew up the window-shades. As the fading winter light filled the room, he looked around him. "Why, it ain't changed at all! Just the same . . . wedding parlor suite and everything." His glance fell on the wall above the fireplace. "And you still got my picture, Em. That was good of you."

She showed signs of sobbing again. "It's all I had. . . ."

He was looking at the picture with a hypnotic fascination. "It's funny, I ain't changed much. You'd never think that picture was taken twenty-six years ago." He took out a pocket mirror and began comparing his features with those in the enlarged photo-