awake and listened. All those nights when you were so insistent. Can you blame him for feeling that he is nothing more than a by-product of your lust? Can you honestly blame him for saying that he owes you nothing?"

No, he had never thought of that. He wasn't sure that she was right. She might have been saying all these things just to confuse him, to make him back down, perhaps even to make a fool of him. He didn't know what to think. He rose. "I don't want to think about it now, Helen. I think I'll go to bed." "Yes, Frank, you had better go to bed. Good night."

"Good night."

When he had gone, Helen sighed and picked up her book. She read rapidly and soon finished reading it. She closed the book and sat thinking for a moment. Then, putting the book on the table next to her chair, she rose, switched off the radio and the lights, and went to her bedroom. As she passed Frank's closed door, she noticed that the light was off.

Frank lay quietly on the bed but could not sleep. His heart seemed to pound almost audibly and he felt dizzy. For a year he had firmly blocked any thoughts of his son. Now, suddenly, everything he had stifled rushed into his mind and he could not stop the flow. He wanted desperately to sleep, but could not. It seemed as if he was to atone in this one night for all the peaceful nights of the last twelve months.

He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, and fished for his slippers. Slipping into them, he got up and went to the door; for some strange reason, the sleeping pills were in the kitchen, and there was nothing for him to do but go down to get one of them.

Helen was buttoning her nightgown when Frank's door opened and instinctively her head turned to her own closed door. Then she heard Frank go downstairs.

Frank switched on the living room light and walked on into the kitchen. He found the bottle of sleeping pills in the cabinet, opened it, and shook out one of the capsules. He decided to wash it down with a glass of milk. When he had filled a glass, he put it in one hand and the pill in the other, flicked off the light with his closed fist and went back into the living room. He saw the book lying on the table, but the letter was nowhere in sight. Without really even thinking about it, he picked up the book. Tucking it under his arm, he switched off the light and returned to his room.

Putting the milk and the pill on the night table, he opened this 'Modern Novel.' Throughout the chaos of this night, the one thing that had puzzled him more than all of Helen's arguments was the extraordinary firmness she had displayed. She had never been weak by any means, but throughout their married life, she had always deferred to his authority. Perhaps this book would help him to find a reason. She had had it with her all afternoon and most of the evening. Perhaps here there would be a clue . . . . .

Helen awoke earlier than usual the next morning. She had completely forgotten to tell Frank that she would be going into town with him. She wondered if she could tell him that she was to meet John. Well, why not? If he was still upset, it would not matter very much; and if he weren't, it might be just as well to keep him alive to the subject for more than only one night. In the long run, only good could come of it.

She dressed rapidly. As she did so, she realized that she had not heard Frank turn off his alarm. When she was ready, she left the room, walked down the hall, and quietly opened his door. Frank was sound asleep. On the table beside his bed lay the book, an empty glass, and a sleeping pill. She closed the door, being careful not to make any noise. As she went downstairs to prepare breakfast, she smiled faintly.

Frank, very sleepy, came into the kitchen. As always, the smell of fresh strong coffee had succeeded where the alarm clock had not. He mumbled a greeting to which Helen replied very cheerfully, and sagged into his chair at the breakfast table. Awakening slowly, he looked at her.

17