Never again to be alone! To fit herself into this man's life as a hand into a glove; to use all her skill to force him into the position of depending upon her utterly; to be the spark to the divine fire! He should have his book, even if it had to be written with her heart's blood. We mustn’t make it so. She went down, feeling rather than seeing the way. “We were good friends in Paris, weren’t we? You made me all sorts of promises, we planned no end of nice things, and then—without a word to any one you disappeared. But, say we're friends. He sat with folded arms and knitted brows, thinking intently. She tried to be casual. She made up her mind in the train home that it should be a decisive crisis. ’ Gerald could not resist. .
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