She changed colour—from fair to flush, from red to white again—and her hand upon the gold cord trembled. I remembered it afterward, though I was not conscious of noticing it at the time.

"You need not," she replied, in her low, controlled voice, "on my account. You need never come again."

"It is easier to come," I answered irritably, "than to know that you sit here making yourself miserable because I don't."

"Have I ever fretted you about coming, Esmerald? I did not know it."

"It would be easier if you did fret!" I cried crossly. "I'd rather you'd say a thing than look it. Any man would."

Indeed, it would have been a paltry satisfaction to me just then if I could have found her to blame. Her blamelessness irritated my self-complacence as the light irritates defective eyes.

"I am due at the hospital in twenty-two minutes," I went on, excitedl. . . Read More