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Therein
lay
his
one
hope
of
regeneration
;
her
scorn
was
the
moral
antiseptic
that
he
needed
,
her
comprehension
the
one
balm
that
could
heal
him
.
.
.
.
When
they
left
the
dinner
he
was
so
afraid
of
speaking
that
he
let
her
drive
home
alone
,
and
went
to
the
club
with
Flamel
.
He
rose
next
morning
with
the
resolve
to
know
what
Alexa
thought
of
him
.
It
was
not
anchoring
in
a
haven
,
but
lying
to
in
a
storm
—
he
felt
the
need
of
a
temporary
lull
in
the
turmoil
of
his
sensations
.
He
came
home
late
,
for
they
were
dining
alone
and
he
knew
that
they
would
have
the
evening
together
.
When
he
followed
her
to
the
drawing
-
room
after
dinner
he
thought
himself
on
the
point
of
speaking
;
but
as
she
handed
him
his
coffee
he
said
,
involuntarily
:
“
I
shall
have
to
carry
this
off
to
the
study
,
I
’
ve
got
a
lot
of
work
to
-
night
.
”
Alone
in
the
study
he
cursed
his
cowardice
.
What
was
it
that
had
withheld
him
?
A
certain
bright
unapproachableness
seemed
to
keep
him
at
arm
’
s
length
.
She
was
not
the
kind
of
woman
whose
compassion
could
be
circumvented
;
there
was
no
chance
of
slipping
past
the
outposts
;
he
would
never
take
her
by
surprise
.
Well
—
why
not
face
her
,
then
?
What
he
shrank
from
could
be
no
worse
than
what
he
was
enduring
.
He
had
pushed
back
his
chair
and
turned
to
go
upstairs
when
a
new
expedient
presented
itself
.
What
if
,
instead
of
telling
her
,
he
were
to
let
her
find
out
for
herself
and
watch
the
effect
of
the
discovery
before
speaking
?
In
this
way
he
made
over
to
chance
the
burden
of
the
revelation
.
The
idea
had
been
suggested
by
the
sight
of
the
formula
enclosing
the
publisher
’
s
check
.
He
had
deposited
the
money
,
but
the
notice
accompanying
it
dropped
from
his
note
-
case
as
he
cleared
his
table
for
work
.
It
was
the
formula
usual
in
such
cases
and
revealed
clearly
enough
that
he
was
the
recipient
of
a
royalty
on
Margaret
Aubyn
’
s
letters
.
It
would
be
impossible
for
Alexa
to
read
it
without
understanding
at
once
that
the
letters
had
been
written
to
him
and
that
he
had
sold
them
.
.
.
.
He
sat
downstairs
till
he
heard
her
ring
for
the
parlor
-
maid
to
put
out
the
lights
;
then
he
went
up
to
the
drawing
-
room
with
a
bundle
of
papers
in
his
hand
.
Alexa
was
just
rising
from
her
seat
and
the
lamplight
fell
on
the
deep
roll
of
hair
that
overhung
her
brow
like
the
eaves
of
a
temple
.
Her
face
had
often
the
high
secluded
look
of
a
shrine
;
and
it
was
this
touch
of
awe
in
her
beauty
that
now
made
him
feel
himself
on
the
brink
of
sacrilege
.
Lest
the
feeling
should
dominate
him
,
he
spoke
at
once
.
“
I
’
ve
brought
you
a
piece
of
work
—
a
lot
of
old
bills
and
things
that
I
want
you
to
sort
for
me
.
Some
are
not
worth
keeping
—
but
you
’
ll
be
able
to
judge
of
that
.
There
may
be
a
letter
or
two
among
them
—
nothing
of
much
account
,
but
I
don
’
t
like
to
throw
away
the
whole
lot
without
having
them
looked
over
and
I
haven
’
t
time
to
do
it
myself
.
”
He
held
out
the
papers
and
she
took
them
with
a
smile
that
seemed
to
recognize
in
the
service
he
asked
the
tacit
intention
of
making
amends
for
the
incident
of
the
previous
day
.
