when she married, for reasons comprehensible, demanding neither exposition
nor defence.
"It doesn't matter any longer," she commented, concluding: "I loved and I hated it. It was deadly and it was glorious. But it no longer matters. It is finished: Sara Law is no more."
"You mean never to go back to the stage?"
"Never."
"And yet—" he mused craftily.
"Never!" She fell blindly into his trap. "I promised myself long ago that if ever I became a wife—"
"But you are no wife," he countered.
"Hugh!"
"You are Mrs. Whitaker—yes; but—"
"Dear, you are cruel to me!"
"I think it's you who would be cruel to yourself, dear heart."
She found no ready answer; was quiet for a space; then stirred, shivering. Behind
them the fires were dying; by contrast a touch of chill seemed to pervade in the
