And that one had been unworthy, and Judith had sent him adrift. She had
always been frank with Crittenden. That much he knew and no more--not
even the man's name; but how he had wondered who and where and what
manner of man he was! And how he had longed to see him!

They were passing over a little bridge in a hollow where a cool current
of air struck them and the freshened odour of moistening green things in
the creek-bed--the first breath of the night that was still below the
cloudy horizon.

"Deterioration," said Judith, almost sharply. "What did you mean by
that?"

Crittenden hesitated, and she added:

"Go on; we are no longer children."

"Oh, it was nothing, or everything, just as you look at it. I made a
discovery soon after you went away. I found that when I fell short of
the standard you"--Crittenden spoke slowly--"had set for me, I got at
least mental relief. I _couldn't_ think of you until--until I had
recovered myself again."

"So you----"

"I used the discovery."

"That was weak."

"It was deliberate."