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FLAMING

YOUTH

“Yes, Bobs.”

“It’s a life of—well, practical widowhood for you.

You

understand.” Yes; she had understood, and with an influx of relief, Her loyalty would keep her beside her husband, helpless, whereas she would have left him had he been his normal self-centred,

self-sufficient

self.

More;

she would

now

gladly have forgiven him the breach of their private marriage agreement, have accepted the full regimen and responsibility of wifehood could she have borne him the child he wished, the child which might have brought an enduring and saving interest into his ruined life. But from that hateful duty she was absolved; the more reason for standing by him through his ordeal. At worst, she was now free to be faithful in thought and spirit to the man to whom, had he been husband or lover to her, she could have given her all in glorious surrender.

He stepped from the shadow before her. “Dee

of a cedar and stood

a

“Stanley !? Her hands flew to her breast. have you been here?” “Hours. Since dark.” “Why didn’t you send word?” “Would it have been safe to write?” “Quite. Now.”

“How long

“How, now?”

‘Don’t you know? Haven’t you seen Cary Scott?” “Not since I left Baltimore. I came the first moment that I could after making arrangements. Our arrangements.”

They had stood apart.

But now he reached forward,

took her hands, crushed them to his cheek.

she famed and trembled.

At his touch