will, and with Philip's ring and watch clasped in her hand. They
had not heard her, nor did they see her at the door, so she drew
back quickly and ran along the passage and down the stairs into
the street.

She did not need now to analyze her feelings. They were only too
evident. For she could translate what she had just seen as
meaning only one thing--that she had considered Philip's love so
lightly that she had not felt it passing away from her until her
neglect had killed it--until it was too late. And now that it
was too late she felt that without it her life could not go on.
She tried to assure herself that only the fact that she had lost
it made it seem invaluable, but this thought did not comfort
her--she was not deceived by it, she knew that at last she cared
for him deeply and entirely. In her distress she blamed herself
bitterly, but she also blamed Philip no less bitterly for having
failed to wait for her. "He might have known that I must love
him in time," she repeated to herself again and again. She
was so unhappy that her letter congratulating Philip on his good
fortune in having his comedy accepted seemed to him cold and
unfeeling, and as his success meant for him only what it meant to
her, he was hurt and grievously disappointed.

He accordingly turned the more readily to Marion, whose interests
and enthusiasm at the rehearsals of the piece seemed in contrast
most friendly and unselfish. He could not help but compare the
attitude of the two girls at this time, when the failure or
success of his best work was still undecided. He felt that as
Helen took so little interest in his success he could not dare to
trouble her with his anxieties concerning it, and she attributed