"You're so gentle and comforting, Cecil," she murmured contentedly, and snuggled down into the cushions.

Cecil was looking abstractedly out the window at the melancholy view rushing past them. "Poor Bill!" he exclaimed suddenly. "Poor old Bill!"

"We're all alone now, Cecil," Mrs. Cartwright said.

"Yes, we're all alone now." Cecil said in his preoccupied way. They drove in silence for a while. She had moved more closely to him and then abruptly she grasped his arm and drew him to her and put her lips to his ear.

"You never suspected me, did you?" she asked in a hoarse whisper, looking at his face to see what effect her words would have.

"What did you say?" he asked. But the driver had pulled up before the house and she cautioned Cecil to silence with a finger to her lips.

The house was warm and cheery. A fire had been laid in the fireplace and was blazing comfortably and the dining room table had been set with her best silver and crystal. The whole place had a gala, festive air. Bessy took their wet things. "There'll be two of us and we'll have dinner right away, Bessy," Monica said. "I'm nearly famished!" And when Bessy had gone, "Cocktail, Cecil?" He stared at her in horrified disbelief.

"Cecil, please don't be stuffy," she said. "I just thought we might need something after that awful place."

"No thank you," he said stiffly. He drifted over to the window and fussed. with the plants on the ledge.

"Cecil, darling," she said petulantly, "you seem so aloof and far away! You're no consolation to me at all!"

"I'm sorry, Monica, but I seem to be of small consolation to myself, today." "Well, Bessy has dinner ready, so we might as well eat." She turned and went into the dining room. Cecil's fingers lingered in the gravel of one of the potted plants and then he slowly followed her and sat where a place had been laid for him. "That's where Bill used to sit," Monica said. He started for a moment, and then looked sharply at her.

"Is it?" he said. "Then I have no right sitting here." He moved his chair until he was sitting opposite her.

"You're awfully silly," Monica said. but either he hadn't heard her or he ignored the remark. The dinner passed in complete silence. She glanced at him surreptitiously through the floral centerpiece. She never tired of that thin, ascetic face, the vague blue eyes, the complete indifference she seemed to arouse in him and yet, all the time, she knew. She felt the passion inside of him. That's what she wanted to know, the passion, and she wondered what he'd be like.

The silence was upsetting her. She dropped her spoon and when she picked up her coffee cup, her hand trembled.

"Cecil, look," she said. "I just can't keep myself still! My hand is shaking so I can't drink my coffee!" He looked at her compassionately but remained silent, absorbed in his own thoughts.

"I hope you don't mind, Cecil, but we have custard for dessert," she said after a moment, as the maid brought it in. "Bill always liked custard. It was his favorite dessert. Bessy, bring Mr. Kelsey some more coffee."

Monica stuck her spoon in her custard and sat toying with it musingly. Then she suddenly smiled and looked at Cecil.

"That's where I put it," she whispered in a conspiratorial tone. "In the custard!" "Put what in the custard?" Cecil asked impatiently, roused from his revery.

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