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 "God only knows. They must exist. I haven't lost faith in rationality even yet."

"But how can you choose isolation?"

He smiled grimly, remembering for the first time the tidings he had come to impart. "My social isolation became one degree more acute to-day," he announced, "and not from choice. I've been asked to resign from the shipyard."

Phœbe's face exhibited consternation. "Oh, but Paul! I thought Mr. Ashmill declared you were indispensable to him!"

"His good repute is even more so. He has political enemies, and couldn't afford to have them go on badgering him about his able-bodied young secretary. As the little song says, 'I for one don't blame him.

"But how terrible! My dear, what will you do?"

The exclamation and the question bored him. "Oh, Phœbe," he said, and his voice broke, "does it dreadfully matter?"

He left her, unable to promise that he would return. The prospect of further scenes, further misunderstandings, futile tears, was more than he could face. Phœbe had pronounced her doom and his when she reminded him that he had to supply courage for both. He hadn't enough.