"Never again," he moaned. "How lonely it is."

The cabman lifted the trap. "Here we are, sir."

"Yes--in a moment." Where should he go? But what did it matter? "To a
hotel," he said. "The nearest."

"The Imperial?"

"That will do--yes--go there."

He resolved never to return to "the flat." On the following day he sent for
the maid and arranged the breaking up. He gave her everything except his
personal belongings and a few of Alice's few possessions--those he could
keep, and those which he must destroy because he could not endure the
thought of any one having them.

At the office all understood his mourning; but no one, not even Kittredge,
knew him well enough to intrude beyond gentler looks and tones. Kittredge
had written a successful novel and was going abroad for two years of travel
and writing. Howard took his rooms in the Royalton. They dined together a
few nights before he sailed.

"And now," said Kittredge, "I'm my own master. Why, I can't begin to fill
the request for 'stuff.' I can go where I please, do as I please. At last I
shall work. For I don't call the drudgery done under compulsion work."

"Work!" Howard repeated the word several times absently. Then he leaned
forward and said with what was for him an approach to the confidential: