"Still in the Park! He must have driven us nearly to Harlem Mere. It
_is_ the Mere! See the café lights yonder. It all looks rather gay
through the snow."

"Very gay," she said, without moving. And, a moment later: "Will you
tell me something? . . . You see"--with a forced laugh--"I can't keep my
mind--from it."

"From what?" he asked.

"The--tragedy; ours."

"It has ceased to be that; hasn't it?"

"Has it? You said--you said that w-what I did to you was n-not as
terrible as what I d-did to myself."

"That is true," he admitted grimly.

"Well, then, may I ask my question?"

"Ask it, child."

"Then--are you happy?"

He did not answer.

"--Because I desire it, Philip. I want you to be. You will be, won't
you? I did not dream that I was ruining your army career when I--went
mad--"