"It means that my life will be different--a country boarding house
or a camp up in those wretched woods, I suppose--an _existence_"--she
went on, her voice regaining its old dominant note--"not life!"

"And no more Newport for either of us," he muttered half audibly to
himself with a tone of regret.

Alice looked up at him, her white hands clenched.

"I won't have it!" she exclaimed hotly; "I simply won't have it. I
should die in a place like that. Buried," she went on bitterly, "among
a lot of country bumpkins! Sam's a fool!"

"And you believe him to be in earnest?" he asked at length. She made
no reply; her flushed cheeks again sunk in her jewelled hands. "Do
you, seriously?" he demanded with sudden fear.

"Yes--very much in earnest--that's the worst of it," she returned,
with set, trembling lips.

For some moments he watched her in silence, she breathing in nervous
gasps, her slippered feet pressed hard in the soft rug. A sudden
desire rushed through him to take her in his arms, yet he dared not
risk it.

"Come," he said, at last, "let us reason this thing out. We're neither
of us fools. Besides, it does not seem possible he will dare carry out
anything in life without your consent."

"I don't know," she answered slowly. "I never believed him capable