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 "I guess I've got to ask you to go through with it."

He had not expected this on the train; nevertheless he had expected it, he told himself. What else could she do? He had made his offer, meaning it; he had begged her to take it. Well, she had.

He shut the window and threw up the blind so that he could watch the storm while he dressed. He liked the swirl and violence of the wind; it met his mood this morning. Quarter to eight. So the Century, in spite of the snow, was on time. People talked about it as they passed in the aisle. On time!

Jay cared nothing at all about arriving on time except, since his father was expecting him, he might borrow a bit of the virtue of promptness from the train which, in spite of the storm, was on time.

How little avail would be his bit of promptness this morning when he was to tell to his father what was to be believed of him hereafter. That was the meaning of going "through with it": to take Nucast's offense upon himself and tell no one, not even his father, the truth—nor Ben.

Jay went to the next car and, not finding Ben, passed to the diner where Ben was at a table with a Yale man and a couple of girls from Vassar who had been in New York before starting for home. At other tables were college people homeward bound for the Christmas vacation. In contrast to them, business men breakfasted by twos and fours. Some had their wives along.

Jay looked for a seat at a college table but none was vacant. He dropped into a chair back of Ben, wondering what Ben must be thinking of him—Ben, who knew him