anger and bitterness and untranslatable disappointment. He went out
and shut the door and stumbled downstairs into the dark sitting room
and stood there for a long time all among chaos and ruin. He loved
her to adoration, and the spring was in his blood; and if she was
young, she was not so young as all that; and where was her side of
the bargain? And at last, through the riot and jumble of his
thoughts, her creed of life came back to him, word for word: she
took all she could get and gave nothing in return; and "Who cares?"
was her motto.

And after that he stood like a man balanced on the edge of a
precipice. In cold blood he could go back and like a brute demand
his price. And if he went forward and let her off because he loved
her so and was a gentleman, down he must go, like a stone.

He was very white, and his lips were set when he went up to his
room. With curious deliberation he got back into his clothes and saw
that he had money, returned to the hall, put on his coat and hat,
shut the door behind him and walked out under the stars.

"All right, then, who cares?" he said, facing toward the "Great
White Way." "Who the devil cares?"

And up in her room, with her hand under her cheek like a child, Joan
had left the world with sleep.




PART TWO