veranda, we heard a scream--a hideous sound it was--from the
mangrove swamp. And a queer creature in drippy white came
crawling out of--"

"Wait!"

Brice's monosyllable smashed into the current of her
scarce-started narrative with the jarring suddenness of a
pistol shot. She stared up at him in amaze. For, seen
through the starlight, his face was working strangely. And
his voice was vibrant with some mighty emotion.

"Wait!' he repeated. "You shan't go on. You shan't tell me
the rest. I'm a fool. For I'm throwing away the best chance
that could have come to me. I'm throwing it away with my eyes
open, and because I'm a fool."

"I--I don't understand," she faltered, bewildered.

"No," he said roughly. "You don't understand. That's just
why I can't let you go on. And, because I'm a fool, I can't
play out this hand, where every card is mine. I'll despise
myself, always, for this, I suppose. And it's a certainty
that I'll be despised. It means an end to a career I found
tremendously interesting. I didn't need the money it brought.
But I--"

"What in the world are you talking about?" she demanded,
drawing a little away from him. "I--"