him away from her for a moment, with her hand against his shoulders. She stared at him. . . . He also looked at her, with his sorrowful eyes, and he spoke, but she did not hear what. . . . Then she heard him say:
"Are you coming downstairs, Tilly? They will be wondering what's become of us!"
"No," she said, calmly. "I have a headache and I'm going to bed."
"Won't you come down?"
"No."
"Do, Tilly! Please come down with me. I shall be so glad if you will."
"I'd rather not," she said, softly and calmly. "I really have a headache . . . and I'm going to bed."
She looked at him gravely, for one more moment, and he also looked at her, very gravely and very sorrowfully. But their souls did not come into contact. She kissed him first:
"Good-night," she said, softly.
He said nothing more, but he returned her kiss, very fondly. Then he left the room; and she heard his steps creaking softly on the stairs.
"Dear God," he thought, "how am I to find her! How am I to find her again! . . ."
