a half contemptuous pity which she was now beginning to admit would
be partially deserved. On the occasions when she had gone out with him
she had learned how unattractive in society her pale face and shy ways
were. Such attentions as she had received had been to her sensitive
spirit like charity. Graydon had been animated by unaffected good-will
and an affection that was, after its kind, genuine. While she
felt that it would be no longer possible to receive these mild
manifestations of regard while giving something so different, she
still knew, with a half despairing sinking of heart, how blank and
desolate her life would be without them. She must meet him once more,
and word was sent that she would receive his good-by after dinner.
Having safely passed this one interview, she hoped that she might be
able to control the future, and either cease to be, or bring about
changes upon which she had resolved.

Only a soft, dim light shone in her room when he came to say farewell.

"Why, Madge," he exclaimed, "you are better! You actually have color.
Perhaps it is fever, though," he added, dubiously. "At any rate, it's
very becoming."

"I think it must be the reflection from your roses there, you
extravagant fellow," she replied, laughing.

"That's famous, Madge. If you will laugh again like that I'll send
you a present from Paris. Dear Madge, do get well. Don't let us have
anything dismal in our parting. It's only for a little while, you
know. When I come back it will be summer, and I'll take you to the
seashore or mountains or somewhere, and help you get well."