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 who's he? They wouldn't pay a bounty on a dozen of his kind out here."

"I should think they would," she said evenly. "He's a gentleman. And they seem to be scarce."

She had not meant to bicker. When love dies it should die silently and decently, and be laid away with secret tears. But Tom recognized none of the amenities. He could not even let her go with dignity.

"Oh, please don't quarrel," she said wearily. "I haven't minded the hardships, but—maybe it was all wrong. I don't blame you only; I blame myself too. If I'd been right you would never have turned to her." He made an angry movement. "I'll have to get away and think things over."

"And if you decide in my favor you'll come back! Not on your life! If you go you go, Kay, and I'm telling you. I'll never ask you to come back, so help me God."

Mrs. Mallory tapped at the door; the taxi from the station was waiting, and Kay had only just time for her train. She closed her bag, pulled on her hat. All the time Tom stood staring at her, helpless, defeated. Only once did he speak at all, and that when she picked up the money from the bureau and thrust it into her purse.

"Where did you get that?"

"Aunt Bessie sent me a check for a thousand dollars, I've left the balance in your name, in the bank."

"Oh, you have, have you!" he exploded. "I'd burn in hell fire before I used it."

And that was their farewell. He did not even go down the stairs with her. He stood inside the door, his hands clenched, a cold sweat on his face, and heard the taxicab drive away. But he made no move to follow it. His mind—such of it as was functioning at all—was busy with this new aspect of the situation. She had sent East for money to go home with. Then she had planned ahead to leave him. It was not because of Clare. That had only been an excuse ready to her hand.