took out a handkerchief, and brushed her lips. "I am a fool, of course. Oh, it is funny to see your ugly little snub nose again! And I couldn't help wanting to speak to you, once more—"
"It has been delightful. And some day I certainly do hope—But there's your train, I think. The gates are going down."
"And here is Avis coming. So good-by, Felix. It is really forever this time, I think—"
It seemed to him that she held in her left hand the sigil of Scoteia. . . . He stared at the gleaming thing, then raised his eyes to hers. She was smiling. Her eyes were the eyes of Ettarre. All the beauty of the world seemed gathered in this woman's face. . . .
"Don't let it be forever! Come with me, Felix! There is only you—even now, there is only you. It is not yet too late—" Astounding as were the words, they came quite clearly, in a pleading frightened whisper.
The man was young for just that one wonderful moment of inexplicable yearning and self-loathing. Then, "I—I am afraid my wife would hardly like it," he said, equably. "So
