willing to stay away till you send for me. But that would only make
you more stubborn. What a strong little devil you are, Linda. I have
no doubt I'd do better to marry a human being. Then I think we both
forget how young you are--you can't pretend to be definite yet."

He captured her hands; too exhausted for any resentment or feeling
she made no effort to evade him. "I'll never say good-bye to you."

His voice had the absolute quality of her own conviction. To her
amazement her cheeks were suddenly wet with tears. "I want to go
now," she said unsteadily; "and--and thank you."

His old easy formality returned as he made his departure. In reply
to Pleydon's demand she told him listlessly that she would be here
for, perhaps, a week longer. Then he'd see her, he continued, in New
York, at the Feldts'.

In her room all emotion faded. Pleydon had said that she was still
young; but she was sure she could never, in experience or feeling,
be older. She became sorry for herself; or rather for the illusions,
the Linda, of a few hours ago. She examined her features in the
limited uncertain mirror--strong sensations, she knew, were a charge
on the appearance--but she was unable to find any difference in her
regular pallor. Then, mechanically conducting her careful
preparations for the night, her propitiation of the only omnipotence
she knew, she put out the candles of her May.