hair. There were many such explanations for Sam, too. Not that they
made her like him any better, feel him any more akin. But it was true
that between the fatalities of heredity and environment that "slight
particular difference" that makes the self had but short tether for
action and reaction. Oh, she could be generous enough to him if he did
not have to be part of herself!

She got up, lit the gas, shutting out the stars, and wrote: "I am
coming back to make one more and one last effort. _Won't you_?"
If he would only try!

Sam met her with the magnanimity of forgiveness, the consciousness of
kind forgetting. Her redeemed valuables were all in place. Everything
should be the same, in spite of--And she put the back of her hand
against his lips!

When he dressed for dinner the salvage of the three balls, the spoils
of war, were piled in his bureau drawer.

Still he hoped better for the roses by her plate. She had the maid
carry them out, explaining in her absence, "No gifts, please, Sam.
Substitutes will not do any longer."

Sam played with his fork, smiling, with lips only. How shockingly she
showed suffering. Separation had made her appearance unfamiliar; he
thought the change all recent. He took pains to compliment the
immediate improvement in the pastry, to give her the servants' money
unreminded as soon as they were alone.

How characteristic! Judith thought, wearily, letting the bills lie