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 nameless sadness they sat silent, and in the silence the breach widened; they looked at each other as passengers on passing ships might watch the breadth of separating waters increase with each pulse-beat of the engines.

Victoria rose hastily. "It's very late, Morton," she said, with an effort at cheerfulness. "You have your drive, you say, and I must go back to the studio. Does your road lead my way, or do we separate here?"

Morton glanced at his watch. "My horses are at the driving-club; I'll walk down with you."

They walked fast and in silence for the most part, except for such desultory conversation as their mutual embarrassment seemed to make necessary. They parted with their old phrases of affection, but the hearty freedom had left them, and both felt it with a shock of loneliness. Victoria turned toward her temporary home, and Morton made his way to the club, where he ordered his team with such dejection that even the hostler wondered. While he waited he went over the interview. He honestly believed that 181